


Come Together One And All

by Impishgrin



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:30:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 42,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impishgrin/pseuds/Impishgrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Clint's relationship started with a grin and snarky comment. It quickly developed into a close friendship - much to Phil Coulson's continuing despair - until it eventually turned to love.<br/>It would take until the Christmas 2012 before both men were ready to take their first steps on the new path of their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I don't use a beta so there are likely to be errors. If you spot any, please point them out and I'll fix them.
> 
> This is being written as a response to the Advent Challenge on the livejournal community slythindor100. The idea is to write a response to daily posted picture prompt throughout December.  
> I will update pairing and/or warnings as and when they develop, this challenge has a habit of developing unexpected arms and legs.
> 
>  
> 
> The main title comes from the first line of Andrea Bocelli's "God Bless Us Everyone" from his 2010 Christmas album _Mi Navidad_  
>  Individual chapter titles are credited at the end of each chapter
> 
> I do not own _The Avengers_ in any way, shape or form. This is written purely for enjoyment and no money is being made from this work.

There were reasons why Tony Stark lived in Malibu, especially during the winter. First of all, the party atmosphere was far more to his tastes. Then there was the fact that his nearest neighbour was over a mile away rather than the next floor. OK that one was his fault – he did decide to become landlord to the Avengers. But the most important reason for his choice to reside in Los Angeles was that the temperature rarely dropped any lower than 9oC which meant there was no snow!

In New York, however, December meant that temperatures were lucky to hit 6 oC. What that meant was winter clothing was necessary from Thanksgiving onwards (if not earlier), walking down the street became something of an adventure because dress shoes and ice really do not mix well, the Iron Man suit was hell to keep in optimum condition and every grey cloud threatened to turn the city into a child’s snow globe.

Yes, there were reasons Tony Stark lived in Malibu.

Of his fellow Avengers, only Steve seemed to share his opinion but considering the man had been literally buried and frozen in the Arctic for seventy years, and had consequently lost everything he knew, Tony felt his opinion was slightly skewed. Natasha was Russian – she’d seen, endured, and took great pains to describe, far worse conditions – the little flurries of snow New York was currently experiencing were not a justifiable reason to bitch. Bruce didn’t seem to care what the weather was doing (why would he, the Other Guy had protected him against blowing his own head off with a 9mm, Mother Nature had a hard act to follow) while Thor was completely confused as to why people were panicking about the freezing showers. He had then proceeded to use the topic for a round of elongated storytelling about his various misadventures among the Nine Realms.

Of their two handlers, Phil Coulson had looked at the weather reports with his usual pragmatic manner and merely requested that each Avenger take account of the increasingly wintery conditions when gearing up for missions while Pepper had helped herself to one of Tony’s credit cards and spent the afternoon updating her wardrobe to suit the climate – seriously, Tony’s business shoes on the ice were bad enough, she did not want to even _attempt_ it in heels!

Clint Barton, however, became increasingly hyperactive as the snowfalls grew heavier and the snow actually started to lay a top the ice. When the weatherman had detailed the snowstorm that was due to hit them from Canada within the week, the archer was suddenly an overexcited child. It wasn’t just the idea of potentially getting a snow-day (OK, SHIELD and the various ne'er-do-wells that enjoyed taking various pot-shots at New York City didn’t stop for a little snow but it was the principle of the thing) it was everything else that seemed to go with the weather pattern. The crisp freshness that was left in the air after the heavens had emptied. The way the snow seemed to bring various people together for no other reason than they’d adopted a ‘we’re all in this together’ mentality. The way the air would ring with the laughter and shrieks of children as they had snowball fights, challenged each other to make the best snow-angel or tallest snowman and ran across virgin fields of snow for no other reason than they could. The way evenings were spent huddled among mounds of blankets and duvets, hands cupped around an Irish coffee or a marshmallow-and-cream topped hot chocolate, telling stories or watching movies with friends and family.

The way Clint’s delighted grin and laughter became infectious until not even Tony was left unaffected.

OK, so maybe New York in the winter wasn’t so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "White Christmas" written by Irving Berlin


	2. So bring us some figgy pudding

Someone had broken into the Tower. How that was possible considering they had 64 business levels, 11 levels of R&D labs, three separate security points, JARVIS _and_ the Avengers to get around Tony wasn’t sure but that didn’t change the fact that someone had managed it. To use one of the kitchens of all things.

Rather than ask JARVIS – who was probably compromised in some way – Tony wandered through the levels of living quarters, checking each kitchen in turn in his search for the source of the gingerbread, boiled fruit and spiced apple that was floating around every level (making mental notes to conduct a complete overhaul of the ventilation system as well as security once he’d found the culprit). As he came across empty kitchen after empty kitchen, Tony’s curiosity piqued. If all the personal kitchens were unused, that could only mean that it was the communal kitchen that was being used and Tony _knew_ at least two Avengers were in the attached communal lounge area. With that thought, Tony double checked that he was wearing the Mark VII bracelets – if Natasha and Thor had been taken down, they were in trouble and he wouldn’t have much time to suit up.

He was fairly sure that nothing could have prepared him from what he eventually found and if someone had described the scene to him, he would have laughed himself silly with the imagery.

A jeans and t-shirt clothed Phil Coulson (Tony never was going to get used to the idea that the man owned clothes that _weren’t_ part of the Men in Black’s basic wardrobe) was standing at the central counter scooping a chocolate based mixture from a bowl with a melon baller and rolling it in either icing sugar, coconut or leaving bare before setting it on a baking sheet. An equally dressed-down Natasha was seated next to him, flame-red hair tied back, carefully cutting stars from sheets of gold, silver or white regal icing and placing them on to a separate red icing banner. Thor was the opposite end of the counter, his own hair somehow tamed by a hair-tie, rolling out cookie dough that he was then cutting into festive shapes, the look on his face one of immense concentration as he pressed each one out the cutter and on to a baking sheet, while Clint was standing half way between the two groups mixing a dark mixture of sugar, suet, nuts and marinated fruit. The whirl of the fan-assisted oven and the straining cooling racks on the counter beside the cooker top indicated that the baking spree had been going on for a while.

“Since when do SHIELD ninjas and Asgardian Princes bake cake and cookies?” asked Tony, leaning casually in the doorway.

“Tony!” greeted Clint, spinning around and Tony spied the traces of cake mix on Clint’s cheek that indicated _mixing_ the ingredients wasn’t all the archer had been up to.

“That would be me,” agreed Tony. “Mind answering my question? Because I’m pretty sure I didn’t have half these ingredients in the Tower when I got up this morning.”

“Mixed the fruit last night,” said Clint. “Surprised you didn’t miss the bottle of brandy. Had to go shopping for the rest this morning.”

“And I missed all this how?” asked Tony, walking forward to inspect the burdens on the cooling racks.

“Asleep in lab,” said Natasha, switching icing sheet and knife. “Be glad you missed it – Clint is very picky.”

“Hey!” protested Clint, going back to his mixing. “I don’t get the chance to bake that often so when I do I’m gonna do it right. Tony, leave the cookies alone – they aren’t finished.”

“They look done to me,” said Tony, reaching to steal a cooling star from the rack only to have Phil turn and wrap his knuckles with the back of a wooden spoon. Tony shot the Agent a highly dramatized injured look.

“Ow!”

“Be glad it wasn’t one of Tasha’s knives,” said Phil, turning back to his bowl of truffle mix and melon baller.

“It’s just a cookie,” griped Tony though he did retreat back to Clint’s side of the counter when Natasha slid around on her chair, knife held loosely in one hand.

“They’re not finished,” repeated Clint. “JARVIS, what’s my next step?”

“Beat the two eggs lightly in a small bowl then stir quickly into the dry ingredients,” replied the AI, causing Tony’s eyebrows to shoot up in question.

“You in on this bake-a-thon too, JARVIS?” he asked.

“Indeed, Sir,” replied the AI, sounding pleased that he was included in the proceedings. “Agent Barton finds it easier to have the recipe read to him one step at a time rather than have the entirety presented all at once.”

“Huh,” said Tony, not having a suitable comeback to that. “Well, carry on gentlemen, lady.”

“Tony,” called Clint as Tony turned back for his labs. The engineer canted his head in question at the archer who flung a small plastic container in his direction.

“To keep you going ’til we’re done,” Clint said as Tony opened the still warm container. He was presented with a dozen cheerfully decorated Christmas Pudding shaped gingerbread cookies, detailed down to the veins on the holly leaves and shining spot on the holly berries.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” grinned Tony, helping himself to one of the cookies and snapping the lid closed on the others before spinning back on his heel with a wave.

“Ciao!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" a traditional 16th century English carol


	3. These are the colours of Christmas: Let them shine all over the earth

Thor was mildly confused. When it came to Midgardian traditions this was not something new and with Steve also regularly confused by something their fellow Avengers or SHIELD comrades had said, Thor was not shy in voicing his confusion and was usually given an acceptable translation. Unless he asked Tony, in which case _everyone_ generally ended up more confused than when they’d started the conversation.

The subject of his current dilemma was the so-called ‘colours of Christmas’ and with even Steve understanding what that meant, Thor was a little hesitant in expressing his puzzlement. In search of answers, Thor had turned to the hundreds of cable channels the Tower had access to but instead of answers he found commercial after commercial about toy sales or supermarket festive bargains or festive restaurant deals. Eventually, Thor had given up on the TV, the nonstop flash of products and hyper-sounding announcers starting to drive him slightly crazy after three hours of searching. Instead he opted to venture out into the streets of New York (dutifully pulling on the padded navy Parka jacket and woollen Inca cap that Pepper had purchased for him when the snows first hit) to see if they had a better answer.

“JARVIS, can you inform Captain Rogers and Agent Coulson that I am exploring the city?” Thor asked as he descended to the Tower’s ground floor.

“Of course, Prince Thor,” said JARVIS. “Do you have your cell phone should they need to contact you?”

“I do,” said Thor.

“Very good, sir,” said JARVIS as the elevator doors opened.

The streets of New York were chaotic. There really was no other way to describe it. Cars, taxis and buses zipped in every direction, some at truly horrifying speeds; business men and women dashing every which way with briefcases clasped in one hand, cell-phones pressed to their ears and elbows at the ready to jab anyone who dared get in their way; parents doing their best to keep an eye on their children among the masses while trying to carry the numerous plastic and paper bags; little ones darting around the other pedestrians, litterbins, lampposts and parking metres using the still remaining snow as projectile weaponry (and the rest of their surroundings as makeshift shields when they invariably hit the wrong target).

The windows of both the shops and houses were bedecked with lights of every colour, some that danced and some that merely shone bright against the dusk. Some houses had wreaths of evergreen, pine cones and bright ribbons of red or white adorning them while others had a tree of evergreen standing proud in their window. Turning into street dominated by shops of all shapes and sizes, Thor was presented with a similar theme though he was quick to notice that some of the larger stores had not taken the same care and attention to detail as the smaller ones. It was to one of these shops – which cheerfully declared itself as **The Christmas Market** – that Thor found himself drawn.

The tinkling bell that chimed as he opened the door was barely noticeable among the soft choral music that was playing through the store (which was little bigger than Tony’s Penthouse at the Tower) but Thor was quickly joined by an elder lady who was dressed in bright clothes of green, red and white, each beginning to show their age but clearly cared for.

“Good eve, ma’am,” Thor greeted with a smile before turning to examine one of the decorations at his hip – a round of silver and gold baubles held together with delicate thread. He canted his head curiously as he examined the other bauble coils on the table, some the same shape as the icing stars Natasha had cut the day before, others different coloured versions of the baubles that first attracted his attention while yet more hung in the shape of bells or winged angels.

“You appear lost, young man,” the proprietor said, not taking her eyes off Thor for a second.

“I am,” admitted Thor, reaching out to cautiously tap one of the bells and smiled at the chime it let out. “I am new to this festival that many call Christmas. I wonder if you would share your wisdom on the subject?”

“That depends on what you want to know,” said the proprietor folding her arms.

“My friends have explained the premise behind the festival,” said Thor. “About the infant called Jesus, about the tradition of dressing an evergreen tree with ribbon and lights, about the giving of gifts and about spending the day with the ones who are dearest to you. But in none of their explanations did they tell me about the ‘colours of Christmas’.”

“It is all around you, dear,” said the lady, her gaze softening as Thor spoke with genuine respect and childishly-earnest curiosity, something that was sorely lacking in the modern world. Thor looked at the baubles, chains of delicate paper angel-musicians, strings of gently twinkling lights and beautiful and skilfully carved scenes of a manager birth before turning back to the lady, canted his head in continued confusion.

“It is polished gold of the bells,” said the lady. “The crisp white of the angels’ robes, the brilliant red and green of the baubles, the rich blue of the Lady Mary’s dress. It’s the sound of joyous singing, the crackle and warmth of an open fire, the smell of the festive meal being prepared, the happiness of being surrounded by family and friends. The colours of Christmas, my boy, are a lot more than what can be found on a child’s paint palate.”

* * *

His conversation with elderly lady lasted well over an hour as each of her replies, spoken in the same eloquent and lyrical tone Thor remembered his mother using when telling tales to himself and Loki during their childhoods, spilled into new questions. It also resulted in Thor purchasing a multitude of baubles, the delicate thread on which to string them and wraps of ribbon with which to finish them. Tony didn’t have a Christmas tree, and Thor wasn’t sure if he would get around to actually putting one up, but Thor reasoned that even without the tree the communal lounge and kitchen (with Clint’s input, the area rapidly becoming the archer’s domain as December progressed) could be decorated in some way.

So it was, when Tony and Bruce were eventually evicted from their labs by JARVIS (aided and abetted by DUMMY and his commandeered army of housebots) they found the rest of the Avengers, along with Pepper, sitting around the coffee table of the lounge, stringing together lines of green and red baubles, golden bells, glittery stars and angelic musicians. Steve was halfway through a story about the last Christmas he’d had with his mother where they had managed to scrape together enough to buy enough cranberries and popcorn to make some small chains for their Christmas tree. Neither scientist was given much choice in partaking in the activity – Pepper had grabbed Tony and wedged him between herself and Clint before handing him a thread and a handful of bells while Natasha had done the same with Bruce, though he was tasked with stringing a line of stars.

“So, Tony,” grinned Clint as he tied of his string of alternating bells and trumpeting angels with a flourish and handing to over to the delighted looking Thor. “When do we get the tree to hang all of these on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "The Colours of Christmas" by John Rutter Green


	4. When I see my Christmas tree, can loved ones be far?

 

Tony didn’t have the first clue about decorating for Christmas. Even as a child the massive Christmas that he vividly remembered sitting in the corner for his parents’ living room (and forbidden to touch) had been selected, dressed and placed by an external company. When he grew up and inherited Stark Industries, he didn’t want to upset the traditions already in place and the Trees that were to be seen at the offices and labs were also set up by external companies and all Tony (theoretically) had to worry about was making sure the bill was paid.

This year, however, he had a feeling no one would let him get away with that. The main Tree in the Tower’s foyer could be a company production but the Tree that would decorate the Avengers’ communal lounge? That would require a personal touch.

Which left Tony with a problem.

Of the Avengers, Bruce was the only one who had been lucky enough to experience something resembling a normal, happy Christmas and Tony had serious reservations about sending him into the busy markets. The last thing New York or the Avengers needed was for the Hulk to run rampage thanks to another shopper not paying any attention beyond their own list. Natasha was a product of Red Room, a group that _really_ needed to work on their child-rearing skills. She knew what Christmas was – it really was a difficult thing to miss living in the US – but the actual celebrating of the holiday was not something she made a point of doing (and sometimes had a little difficulty working out why others made such a big deal out of various goings on). Thor, despite trying his best to assimilate into Earth and US culture, still had difficulty with some of the basics and Tony could picture him marching out into the nearest forest with an axe over his shoulder, determined to cut down the best specimen he could find. For Clint, Christmas had been a mixture of being recipient of charitable gifts while in orphanage, being overlooked by foster parents and being made to work – Christmas in the circus meant an extra show and little time for actual celebration. His work as both a bounty hunter and as a SHIELD Agent meant that he didn’t keep track of the holidays and he certainly didn’t make plans to celebrate the ones he did remember.

That left Steve and Tony – after being battered in the stomach for the sixth time since leaving the Tower and watching Steve wince as someone scraped their shoe down the back of his leg – wasn’t completely convinced that either of them would manage such a trip unscathed. Tony, however, had set himself a mission and, as Pepper, Phil and JARVIS could all attest, he was notoriously stubborn when he liked how an idea sounded. This was to prove no exception.

What was to prove an exception was Phil abandoning his mountain of paperwork – the term was literal, SHIELD refusing to allow its people to solely rely on technology so everything had at least one digital and hardcopy – and subjecting himself to the brutality of the festive crowds to help his two somewhat wayward charges complete their self-appointed mission. Tony would never tell the Agent but he found his detailed knowledge of the Avengers and his general no-nonsense approach to be invaluable.

“You will still be finding needles in your uniforms at Easter,” he said when Steve suggested the traditional Norway Spruce. The super-solider winced while Tony verbally added his own disagreement to the suggestion, citing the dangers of having the various joints on the Iron Man suit seize or jam mid-use.

“Citrus brings back bad memories for Tasha,” he warned as Tony closely inspected a Fraser Fir. That was such a scary prospect that Tony abandoned the tree so quickly Steve had to fight not to laugh.

“It’s blue,” was enough to have both men turn away from the Blue Spruce. The last thing any of them – especially Clint and Thor – needed was for Loki’s spectre to taint the holiday.

“There is no way in _hell_ you are getting a tree that is potential explosive!” he declared in mild alarm when Tony dragged a Jeffrey Pine to the forefront. Steve was very quick to agree with the Agent and while Tony affected a look a great offense.

It took a further hour of discussion and searching but eventually the trio decided upon the Piñon Pine. It appeared to tick all the boxes: a sweet woodsy smell, kept most of its needles, was a golden-green colour and should it catch alight it would be largely contained. As Tony dealt with the particulars of getting the tree netted and arranged for delivery (adding a huge tip to ensure that it would appear in the Tower Penthouse later that evening) Steve purchased a few of the simpler decorations available in the store while Phil carefully selected the glittering star that was to be the tree’s crowning glory.

* * *

Six hours later, the communal lounge was a scene of organised chaos as a super-soldier, a demi-god, two genius scientists, two master assassins and their two handlers tried to decorate the newly delivered tree without destroying it, the decorations or each other. They were displaying none of the seamless teamwork that made them so formidable on the battlefield but no one seemed to care. Decorating the Christmas tree and was the job of a family and, as Tony sat examining the finished product, Pepper slumped against one side and Clint sprawled across him, Natasha and the sofa, he concluded that that’s what had happened.

A little heavy towards the front, topped by a precariously balanced star and the rest of decorations far from symmetrical, it felt a damn sight more special than any other Christmas tree to have ever graced a Stark family home. Smiling, Tony set his glass down on the back of the sofa and shuffled forward to settle Pepper and Clint more comfortably against him, wrapping one arm around Pepper and resting the hand against the nape of Clint’s neck.

“I’m certain wherever I roam,” he murmured, the half-remembered lyrics from one of his mother’s favourite Christmas songs drifting into his conscious mind. “The glow from your branches will light my way home……”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from "My Christmas Tree" by John William from the 1992 movie _Home Alone 2: Lost in New York_


	5. And the memories to take me there

Pepper knew that it was part of Tony’s personality to be stupid when it came to emotions, especially when it involved the so-called mushy ones of love and affection. Not stupid as in giving such to the wrong person, stupid as in either being completely oblivious (both to his own feelings and those of another) or outright running away. That Tony hadn’t shut himself away in his labs and rewritten all but the emergency override access codes, Pepper was currently opting for Tony being completely oblivious and it was starting to drive her up the wall.

“Tell me you’ve noticed it too,” she said to Natasha as the two women took a moment to rehydrate and cool down from their morning run (using the treadmills in the gym, Natasha understanding that Pepper would not be able to keep up should they take their usual route while it was six inches deep in snow).

“They have always been……handsy?” said Natasha.

“Tony’s handsy with everyone,” dismissed Pepper.

“But Clint is not,” said Natasha. “Close and tactile takes trust and Clint does not trust easily. Something is special about Tony.”

“What about you and Phil?” asked Pepper.

“Coulson is father, brother and mentor,” said Natasha, still unable to use the Agent’s given name despite being out with his direct chain of command for the last eight months. “And saving someone’s life then repeatedly guarding their back rather than obey the orders to hit the target painted there helps build trust.”

“It’s more than that,” negated Pepper. Natasha shrugged, as uncomfortable with discussing softer emotions as Tony was.

“It grew,” she said. “And became a habit. It was not a conscious decision. But this is not what you wanted to discuss.”

“Tony needs a push if he’s ever going to admit to feeling something deeper for Clint than he does the rest of us,” said Pepper. “And I seriously doubt Clint will be amiable to an active part in any plans.”

“No,” agreed Natasha.

“So someone needs to plan the seduction for them and just make sure they get where they’re supposed to be,” said Pepper.

“And you want my help?” surmised Natasha. Pepper nodded.

“So long as Clint does not get hurt,” the Russian said. “Step one – shower then go for coffee. Tony’s walls always have ears.”

* * *

Steps two through five were developed during the trip to and from the coffee shop. Both Pepper and Natasha threw out the idea of a mysterious admirer – Tony because it would not be a novel idea and Clint because he did not react well to being on the receiving end of secrecy. In doing so, however, they were going to have to be make things explicit, something that could backfire on them spectacularly if either man reacted badly.

“We start small,” said Natasha. “Clint has already baked cookies for Tony. We need to return the favour.”

“ _Clint_ is the one responsible for all those cakes?” Pepper asked in amazement. Natasha nodded, looking proud of her partner.

“He ‘got lucky’ at one of his foster homes,” said Natasha, dragging a herbal tea bag through its pot of hot water. “He made a point of making the lessons stick and then expanded on them.”

“Tony and a kitchen are not a good combination,” bemoaned Pepper, spooning some of the foam off her latte.

“He would call a bakery, yes?” asked Natasha. Pepper nodded.

“But that’s not the same,” she said.

“But it _is_ Tony,” Natasha replied. “There is a small bakery up the block. Clint adores their Hershey Kiss melts.”

“Why would a man who can bake want to eat shop-bought cookies?” asked Pepper.

“Memories,” said Natasha, pouring and doctoring her tea. “Hershey Kiss melts were the one thing that his foster-mother never allowed the children to bake with her. They were special treats.”

“How many cookies did Clint make for Tony?” asked Pepper. “And _what_ did he make?”

“Twelve gingerbreads in the shape of Christmas Puddings,” replied Natasha. “Tony seemed very pleased.”

“He would be,” Pepper smiled. “His mother would make gingerbread every second during December when Tony was a child.”

“Both will get suspicious if Clint is always making gingerbread,” said Natasha. Pepper chuckled.

“No doubt,” she said. “So, step two is Hershey Kiss melts. What do we put on the card?”

* * *

Clint stared at the box on his bed. Gold with the festive decoration of red ribbon, it sat patiently in the middle of the coverlet. Clint could smell the warmth of its contents and his mouth watered even as his eyes widened in recognition.

“No way,” he murmured, settling on his bed and collecting the box to him, ignorant of the quiver that was still strapped to his thigh. He opened the box with slightly shaking fingers, needing to have his eyes confirm what his nose and his memories were telling him – there were only four people who knew of his love for the Hershey Kiss melts and two of them were dead. He scrambled for the card, ripping the envelope slightly in his haste to open it.

The message was handwritten but not by a hand that Clint recognised – the bakery probably, the archer now recognising the design of the box he held – and was unsigned. The message however was explanatory enough.

 _Memories are precious,_ it read. _You gave me back one of mine with the gingerbreads, let me return the favour with these._

“What the hell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "Kiss Me Like It's Christmas" by This Century


	6. Some magic in that old hat they found

“Why am I not surprised to you built snowmen in the highest place you could find?” asked Phil as he leant in the doorway that led onto the balcony. Clint grinned and shook his head as he added the finishing touches to his latest snow-figure.

“Not allowed up there,” he said throwing an arm out to point at the spire structure atop Stark Tower. “Tony added spikes and broken glass to anything he thought I would sit on.”

“You gave Pepper a scare, are you really surprised?” asked Phil.

“No,” said Clint, dropping his eyes and rubbing the back of his head at the guilt that memory stirred.

“Hey,” said Phil, stepping out onto the snowy balcony and wrapped his fingers through the ones on Clint’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. “That’s all forgiven, stop beating yourself up about it.”

“It’s not forgotten,” said Clint. Phil smiled and shifted to press a kiss to Clint’s forehead.

“We remember to protect you,” he said, moving back so that he had eye contact with his former asset. “And for no other reason. Now, your presence is demanded in the den. Apparently you owe the rest a movie.”

“It’s that time already?” asked Clint, looking vaguely startled. Phil chuckled and nudged Clint back indoors.

“We should just put you on stage,” said Phil. “You’ve watch this movie every year since you joined SHIELD.”

“Never did like show and tell,” said Clint. “And this works a _lot_ better on the tell part of that equation.”

* * *

Thursday night was movie night. None of them could tell you why or when they’d come to the decision, including making attendance mandatory unless you were on a mission (or off planet in Thor’s case) but it was now a sacrosanct tradition. Phil had made the mistake of staying in his office one week during the summer, trying to make the most of the slow period both SHIELD and the Avengers were experiencing to catch up on his backlog of paperwork. He hadn’t thought that he would be missed – he was the Avengers _handler_ (and even that wasn’t official as far as SHIELD was concerned) not an Avenger himself. The Avengers, however, were of a different opinion and Tony, Clint and Bruce had all shown up to escort him out of SHIELD HQ, Tony loudly expressing his disappointment with the man’s deliberately attempt to miss the tradition. He had never missed another night and had actually participated in a couple retrieval operations himself (once removing Pepper from a Stark Industries manufacturing plant where she had taken refuge from Tony and Bruce plotting and another dragging Tony away from where he was watching a team of R &D technicians run a series of basic simulations).

As the months had progressed and Thursday Nights earned their inviolable state among the Avengers (seriously, even members of the criminal element were starting to avoid making too much of a nuisance of themselves on a Thursday, it leading to the Avengers being even _more_ pissed off when they responded to the calls) Phil started to notice small details being added to the tradition. The standard popcorn was always shared from large bowls, each Avenger took it in turns to select the weekly movie (something that initially had Thor and Steve trawling through movie databases in order to find out what was actually available), the shape-restricted sofas were slowly abandoned for an ever growing nest of blankets and pillows, street clothing was slowly replaced by loungewear (Phil had had JARVIS create a still of Tony’s disappointed expression when he realised the Agent _didn’t_ sleep in Captain America pyjamas) and on more than one occasion at least one of the group had fallen asleep in the pile of warm bodies and covers where they would lay undisturbed until someone else decided they really should retire to an actual bed.

Something else that Phil had begun to notice was Tony and Clint’s increasing tendency to use each other as a mixture of pillow and blanket, especially after a mission had been particularly rough on either of them. Casual flirtation and an unabashed perchance for some level of physical contact had marked the friendship between archer and genius from the day they had been introduced (and Phil had spent the next six months wondering if that had been a sensible decision) but what Phil was seeing now told of something deeper. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said that the two men were long-term lovers such was the ease and familiarity of their contact. The fact that he was currently watching the pair doctor their mugs of hot chocolate with the contents of the other – Clint stealing most of the marshmallows from Tony’s while Tony greatly reduced the mound of cream on Clint’s and added it to his own – only helped prove his point.

“It does not bother you?” asked Natasha, settling beside Phil to watch Clint and Tony settle back against each other and their combined mountain of pillows.

“Should it?” asked Phil, glancing at her. “They’ve been playing a similar game for the last six years.”

“Pepper believes they are no longer playing,” said Natasha, smiling slightly as Clint’s long draw on his chocolate left him with a pink spot of marshmallow on the top of his nose.

“I am inclined to agree with her.”

“Why does that concern me?” asked Phil, raising an eyebrow. Natasha’s smile ghosted briefly into a grin and Phil decided that he didn’t want to know what the two women were plotting. To be able to genuinely claim deniability if nothing else!

“So long as nobody gets hurt,” he said in warning as piece of popcorn hit him in squarely the middle of the forehead while another hit Natasha’s shoulder. Both turned to the culprit, who grinned unrepentantly.

“Shh!” Clint said. “You’re missing the best parts.”

“These stunts better not appear in your mission reports, Barton,” warned Phil. Clint continued to grin.

“Got my own bag of tricks, Boss,” he said. Natasha snorted while Phil raised his eyebrow once more and the mildly exasperated Tony pointedly turned everyone’s attention back to the movie by ordering JARVIS to replay the last five minutes.

It was just as well _Home Alone_ was still funny the second time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Frosty the Snowman" by Walter 'Jack' Rollins and Steve Nelson


	7. When Christmas comes to town

All the Avengers had been to feasts, banquets and large dinner parties in one form or another. And all of them hated them – Thor had lost his taste for such gatherings following Loki’s betrayal; Steve never had been comfortable in situations that required his Class-A uniform; Tony hated schmoozing with other members of the social-elite and the attached press, all of whom seemed to want a piece of him in one way or another; Pepper had grown weary of being left to clean up and make-nice following Tony’s resultant stunts; Bruce had never liked mass-crowd situations, even before he’d developed his alter-ego; Natasha usually ended up being hit on from all sides by individuals who were in serious need of both a dictionary and a reality-check; Coulson would quickly find himself bored with proceedings and the decided inability to eat his meal in peace and; Clint hated being forced to sit still and follow protocols that made next-to-no sense.

So when Clint announced that they were to make themselves presentable for a dinner party that Friday lunchtime, there had been multiple protests of denial and confusion. Clint, however, was having none of it and temporarily commandeered the loyalty of both DUMMY and a mini army of housebots to help him shepherd the unwilling Avengers into their rooms with instructions of “keep it casual, the guests aren’t going to care for three-piece suits. Meet in the main foyer in thirty.” Forty minutes later, he was divvying his teammates between three SHIELD driven SUVs before handing Natasha a helmet and setting himself astride a motorbike. A quick radio check with the drivers and Clint pulled out into the flow of traffic, the three SUVs forming a convoy behind him and cutting an impressive picture as they did so.

“Oi!” Tony barked when he was eventually allowed back within Clint’s hearing range and didn’t have a constant stream of traffic to contend with. “Enough with the cloak and dagger stuff, Legolas. What are we doing here? And more to the point, where _is_ here?”

“Ah, The Bronx?” said Clint. Tony narrowed his eyes.

“I’m the resident smartass,” he said. Clint grinned while Natasha sucked in a sharp breath as she took in the front of the building and the name embossed on the stonework.

“You still do that?” she asked.

“Yup,” nodded Clint, looking to Phil and hoping the Agent had caught up with what was going on. A small nod and a returning small smile from the man indicated that he had.

“Tony, stop asking questions,” the Agent said and indicated from Clint to lead the way.

Clint led his team to the large kitchen around the back of the building, Clint quickly darting forward through the swing doors and deftly darting through a half dozen people to sneak up behind the diminutive lady who was helping a teenager carefully transfer a pot of vegetables from counter to stove. He liberated them of their burden, wrapped his arms around both of them, pressing a kiss to the teenager’s temple. It was all done with the same speed Clint knocked and loosed arrows in the field and the lady yelped in surprise before smacking her spoon over Clint’s knuckles in reprisal while the teenager shrieked in delight.

“Clint!” she said, returning the embrace even as the nun worked herself free and turned to face the archer with her hands on her hips, clearly unimpressed with the man. Clint grinned unrepentantly at the lady.

“Clinton Francis Barton!” the lady said.

“Mother,” he said, releasing the teenager to turn her under his arm. “I bring the hands I was talking about.”

“Oh?” she asked while Steve looked bemused by the entire episode, Thor confusedly mouthed the word Mother and Tony looked around the Avengers, particularly their hands, and turned back to Clint with an exclamation of “What?”

“Mother, Hannah, may I introduce my teammates and friends,” said Clint, drawing both the woman and teenager forward before sorting the Avengers into something resembling a semi-circle. “Captain Steven Rogers, Dr Bruce Banner, Anthony Stark, Thor Odinson, Natasha Romanova, Virginia Potts and Agent Philip Coulson. Guys, this is Mother Mary Catherine, the proprietress of this orphanage and a living saint, and Hannah, one of the older residents.”

“Clint!” protested the nun while the Avengers smiled and/or waved in greeting and Hannah nodded in agreement to Clint’s assessment.

“Delighted,” said Tony. “Why are we here?”

“Christmas dinner,” said Clint, smiling at Natasha who had shrugged out her jacket and was tugging her hair up. “For forty-five kids between the ages of three and seventeen. We’re the help.”

“The help?” Tony repeated sounding appalled as Phil rolled up his sleeves looking expectant. Pepper turned, delivered a smack to the back of Tony’s head and shrugged out the jacket she was wearing.

“Where do we start?” she asked.

* * *

It took five hours, during which Mother Mary Catherine had banished Tony and Thor to the main room with instructions to decorate, Pepper and Sister Mary Peter being sent as supervisors, but eventually the meat was finished, the vegetables prepared, the pudding (another of Clint’s creation made with Mother Mary Catherine sticking to his elbow in order to help him follow the recipe properly) remaining warm in the oven and the juice chilled.

It took the children less than one to devour everything that was before them, each one talking lively to their neighbours, be they child or Avenger, laughing at the jokes and comparing the toys and puzzles they got out their crackers.

Once dinner was over, and the ten eldest children (except Hannah) were in the kitchen with Sister Mary Rose and Sister Mary Stephen on clean-up duty, Tony had expected the Avengers to bid farewell to the nuns and their orphanage. They had, after all, done what they had come here to do. However, an hour-and-forty minutes after the plates had been cleared away, Tony was still sitting somewhat uncomfortably beside Phil, who was largely ignoring him in favour of talking to the nuns around them. Thor and Steve were holding court with at least fourteen of the children halfway down on the tables, telling tales of their missions both past and recent while Bruce had been drawn into a scientific debate with a group of about five children. Natasha and Pepper were surrounded by a group of early-teen girls, all of whom were seeking the secrets behind their spot-free skin, flawless makeup, incredibly healthy looking flame-coloured hair and, most importantly, how to get the boys at school to take them seriously. Tony only heard part of the conversation over the din in the dining hall (that was expertly decorated, if he did say so himself) and was honestly surprised to find Natasha answering each question with the same patient, quiet-embarrassed honesty as Pepper.

Once again, however, it was Clint that drew Tony’s attention more than was truly justified.

Hannah had barely left his side from the moment Clint had made his entrance and both the archer and teenager had been swarmed by the little ones the minute the Mother Mary Catherine had given her forty-plus charges permission to leave their places. Hannah had laughed and Clint had willing drawn every youngster into an embrace. After a few minutes of being used as a climbing frame, Clint and Hannah had settled in a corner of the dining hall with the little ones where upon the archer launched into a highly animated story, the two youngest of the group settled against his chest while the others gathered as close to him as possible. It had only taken thirty minutes before the time and their full stomachs to catch up with the two toddlers and they had both crashed out in Clint’s arms, one gently suckling the corner of the scrap of blanket they carried everywhere while the other had reached out to grab at Clint’s polo-shirt collar.

“This place was a lifeline for Clint when he first came to New York,” said Phil, turning away from his own conversation to notice Tony’s fascination with the archer.

“How?” asked Tony. “I thought he ran away from an orphanage when he was a kid.”

“He did,” Phil agreed. “But while that particular establishment left much to be desired in their childcare skills, it doesn’t mean Clint pushed those memories away. He didn’t get the same invitation to join SHIELD you, Natasha or I did. He was twenty-one years old when he was dishonourably discharged from the Army for what his superiors termed conduct unbecoming and he fell in with dangerous and violent crowd fairly soon afterwards. When I found him, I was given the choice of either claiming him as a long-term undercover SHIELD Agent working to bring down a suspected terrorist cell or have him charged with terrorism and weapons offenses.

“Lost, confused and genuinely terrified that SHIELD would drop him as soon as they found out who he was and what conclusions they come up with when they read his records, he ran to the nearest refuge he could find – St Nicholas Roman Catholic Church and its attached orphanage. Mother Mary Catherine was only a Sister here at the time but she persuaded her superior to let her care for him. She later told me that God had called her to look after _all_ His children, not just the ones who were under the age of eighteen. Her superiors relented, provided Clint made himself useful – heavy lifting, manual labour, something of a security guard. Mother Mary Catherine took the battered and bleeding hawk and sheltered him under wing, gave him a bed to sleep in, made sure he had a hot meal every night, gave him someone to talk to, taught him how to cope with his dyslexia, tempered him enough that he was able to give proper thought to what _he_ wanted from his future. It took eight months of gentle, patient care but eventually he stepped back into the world with his self-confidence boosted and his determination more focussed than ever before.”

“So today’s stunt was what?” asked Tony, unable to hide his chuckle as another of Clint’s avid audience fell asleep against him.

“Clint taking the opportunity to pay back a little of the kindness he was paid when so many others had turned him away,” said Phil. “Clint paid for the food and the crackers. Come Christmas Day, there will be a small present under the tree for every child and nun here, personally and carefully chosen for each recipient.”

“How long?” asked Tony, genuinely stunned by the archer’s generosity.

“Fifteen years,” said Phil. “Hannah was just two when Clint first turned up here. She latched on to him during those eight months and Clint took solace in the innocence of a toddler. Fury and the WSC credit me with bringing Hawkeye into the fold but I have a strong suspicion that we would have lost him years ago if not for Mother Mary Catherine and Hannah. He was forced to miss two of the celebrations because of missions and he made a point to be as obnoxious as possible, up to and including stealing a webcam and laptop from the technicians so he could make a video call to the kids on for both this meal and on Christmas Day.”

“And the reason they have two meals?” asked Tony.

“Orphanage tradition,” said Hannah as she appeared beside the table, a sleepy child held in her arms. “6th December is St Nicholas’ Day – our patron. We used to celebrate on the 6th itself but with the kids all needing to be up early for school during the week, the sisters decided it was better to have a celebration meal the closest Friday instead. Phil, can I steal Clint to help me put the munchkins to bed?”

“Like he would leave quietly if I said no,” said Phil with a chuckle. “He mentioned if he’s staying the night?”

“Say what now?” asked Tony, looking alarmed by the thought. That was not part of any plan _he’d_ heard.

“I’ve been trying,” said Hannah with an exasperated sigh. “But he seems determined to leave with you guys tonight. What gives?”

“I have an idea,” said Phil. “Tell him this place is as much his home as the Tower and that he’s to sleep wherever he feels most comfortable.”

“I gotcha, Boss,” grinned Hannah. “Nice meeting you, Mr Stark.”

“You too,” Tony said as the teenager turned away.

“You’re writing her SHIELD invitation already aren’t you,” Tony accused when she was out of earshot. Phil chuckled and shook his head.

“That is Clint’s baby sister, Tony,” he said. “A college application will get me some cookies. SHIELD invitations will get me up-close and personal with the Hudson River at the very _least_. Now give me that puzzle before you destroy it completely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "When Christmas Comes to Town" by Matthew Hall and Meagan Moore and used in the 2004 movie _The Polar Express_


	8. A Christmas time, it hurts the most

Steps three through five of Natasha and Pepper’s plan in getting Tony and Clint to admit to their feelings involved some more obvious seduction in the form a wine-and-dine meal. Both women had an intimate enough knowledge of their respective partners that finding a restaurant capable of satisfying both palates was not hard. Getting the men there wasn’t going to be difficult either – Pepper was used to haranguing Tony into attending various meetings and events whilst Natasha was confident with telling Clint a ruse that the rest of the Avengers were going out as well (that was true, they just weren’t going to the same restaurant). The hardest part of the plan was finding somewhere in New York that wouldn’t make a big deal about having Tony Stark appear on their doorstep.

Steps three through five never got out of the planning stages.

The Avengers had been called to duty at 11:18am in response to reports of a series of nail bombs had been planted in multiple locations in a busy shopping district and due for detonation at some point in the next three hours. It being a Saturday and seventeen days before Christmas, all six scrambled into action without Hill having to ask twice.

By 12:03pm, the first bomb had been located and analysed by JARVIS and was disarmed by Steve by 12:14pm. Thor and Clint were working with the emergency services to clear the area and maintain a secure perimeter. The Hulk not being needed for this particular crisis, Bruce was holed up in one of the police control rooms and using the incoming information from the Avengers on the ground and close examination of CCTV footage to try and find other potential locations. By 12:47pm twelve bombs had been located and disarmed by a combination of Avengers and the New York bomb squad but there was still a third of the area to be properly searched and cleared.

At 1:14pm, two adjacent litter bins exploded in the centre of the district, Clint caught in the crossfire of burning rubbish, shards of metal and hot twisted plastic.

* * *

“Tony, for God sake, sit down!” exclaimed Steve as the Avengers gathered in the waiting room of the nearest hospital, an hour-and-forty-three minutes after the explosions. Phil was sitting staring at his blood streaked hands, his skin the unhealthy colour of soured milk beneath the streaks and smudges of ruby blood. Bruce was sitting tucked in corner of the room with Natasha’s hands twisted in his as he fought to keep the Hulk under control, Thor sitting helplessly beside them, his own hands as blood-stained as Phil’s. Pepper was down the corridor bullying the doctors into giving them more information about Clint’s condition and haranguing the gathered media vultures who were all desperate for a sound-bit to splash across their front pages. Tony, who had done little more than remove his helmet, was pacing in obvious distress but the job of calming him down had been left to Steve, the only Avenger who currently appeared capable of keeping a level head.

“Sit down?” Tony repeated. “One of my closest friends in in surgery because some trigger-happy asshole took a serious dislike to Christmas shoppers and the great Captain America wants me to _sit down_?”

“You heard the doctors, Tony, Clint’s injuries aren’t that serious,” said Steve. “The surgery is just to remove some of the imbedded metal and plastic fragments. They’re minor compared to what could have happened out there.”

“Minor?” Tony said. “He’s _human_ Steve! He may be at the peak of natural human physical conditioning, have unparalleled aim with just about any weapon he picks up and he’s great at spontaneous tactical decisions but none of that changes the fact he’s susceptible to a lot more than we are.”

“Meaning what?” asked Steve.

“Meaning that injuries that you call a scratch can have him down for a couple days,” said Tony. “Injuries that you call minor can have him down for weeks or even months. What would have you taken down could outright _kill_ him.”

“I take it now is a good time to tell you that Agent Barton is going to be alright?” interrupted a doctor, Pepper appearing behind him.

“He is?” asked Bruce, looking up from the carpet in his corner. The doctor nodded, pulling the surgical cap off his head as he did so.

“He’s held together with forty stitches, most of which run between his hip and the bottom of his ribcage,” the doctor said. “He’s got some spider web fractures to his cheek bone where he hit the concrete but while its swollen just now and may affect how much he’s able to open his right eye, once the swelling goes down there shouldn’t be any further issues. He has minor scrapes, burns and contusions on both his arms, caused by both his hitting the ground and his attempt to protect his head and neck from the debris. There’s also some minor damage to his legs but as with his arms it’s mainly scrapes and contusions. The one exception is the slash down the outside of his right knee but the wound wasn’t all that deep, relatively clean and if he keeps the scar tissue supple, it shouldn’t have any long term effect on his gait. His hearing and balance is likely to be affected by the blast shockwave but we won’t know how badly until he’s awake and moving.”

“When can we see him?” asked Steve.

“He’s being taken up to ICU just now – just a precautionary measure in case of any infection,” said the doctor. “And he’ll be under the effects of the anaesthetic for about another hour. Go home, get yourselves cleaned up and come back. I’ll leave a note with the nurses that you’re allowed to visit _provided_ you take it in turns. He’ll be on a morphine drip for the night at least, I don’t want you overwhelming him, understand?”

“Understood,” nodded Steve as Pepper supressed a choked breath of relief while both Thor and Phil shot to their feet to catch Tony as the engineer’s knees gave out despite the Iron Man suit.

* * *

It would take another six hours for Clint to wake up, finding Tony and Phil half-heartedly eating from Chinese take-out cartons and talking quietly at his bedside when he did so.

“B’ss?” he rasped out, the back of his throat dried by the oxygen nasal-cannula wrapped around his face. Phil and Tony abandoned their food and conversation immediately, Tony going for the cup of half melted ice chips on the bedside table while Phil moved onto the bed, raising a hand to cup around Clint’s neck, giving the younger man the physical contact he often needed when waking up drugged.

“I’m here,” assured the Agent.

“Wh’t happ’n’d?” asked Clint before accepting the spoonful of ice chips Tony was holding out.

“You got caught between two of the bombs,” said Phil. “Forty stitches, multiple bruises, burns and scrapes and spider web fracturing in your cheek bone.”

“H’d worse,” said Clint, accepting another ice chip from Tony. Phil chuckled lightly as he pulled his away from Clint’s neck and rested the other against his forearm, being careful of the IV lines.

“I know,” said he. “Doesn’t mean I like it now any more than I did the first time round.”

“Sor’y Boss,” said Clint. “How long?”

“Nearly eight hours,” said Tony, his hand twitching around the cup of ice chips. Clint gave him a dopey look of apology.

“As for how long you’re staying here” said Phil. “That will depend on how well your wounds heal.”

“H’d plans,” bemoaned Clint as the morphine started to pull him back into sleep. Phil chuckled and reached up to ruffle the archer’s hair.

“They’ll keep,” he said. “Just you concentrate on getting better.”

“’kay,” Clint said, his sleepy gaze sweeping from Phil to Tony and back. “Stay?”

“We will,” agreed Phil. Clint gave them a dopey smile before drifting off again.

“He’s OK?” asked Tony, looking at Phil as the Agent moved off the bed once more.

“He’ll be fine,” said Phil and straightening the cover back up to Clint’s armpit. “Previous history, I’d say he’ll be back home in two or three days. Not fit for duty but he’ll be home.”

“That’s a start,” said Tony, subconsciously reaching out to brush Clint’s fringe off his forehead. Phil kept his gentle smile at the action.

“I’m gonna go call the others,” he said, fishing his phone from his pocket with one hand and gathering his remaining Chinese with the other. Tony absently nodded but his attention wasn’t really focused on anything beyond the sleeping Clint. Phil slipped quietly from the room but paused in the doorway as he heard Tony murmuring.

“You’ve gotta be OK, Clint. You’ve beaten the weird and wonderful, don’t let the boring be the thing that takes you out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "A Soldier’s Christmas Letter" by The Soldiers from their 2009 debut album _Coming Home_


	9. Underneath the mistletoe and kiss by candlelight

Clint was released from the hospital on Monday afternoon, under strict doctor’s orders – that meant Bruce’s as well as his surgeon’s – that he was to complete the course of oral antibiotics he’d been given and that he was to limit the level of physical activity he did until the stitches were removed from his side and knee (the appointment had been set for ten days’ time). He was given prescriptions for Hydrocodone and Propoxyphene as well as one for an antibiotic cream for the smaller wounds and burns, particularly the ones around his right knee. Phil collected all three despite having serious doubts that Clint would actually use the painkillers – the archer really did _not_ like having his cognitive processes compromised.

After a round of flirtatious (and somewhat drugged) thanks and farewell, Clint was negotiate into a wheelchair – literally, Tony was now due him another box of Hershey Kiss melts – and wheeled into the awaiting mass of paparazzi reporters and photographers, Thor striding beside them. Sweatshirt hood tugged up and head ducked down low would indicate to anyone with even a grain of common sense that Clint did not want to talk or have his photograph taken but that didn’t stop the furious flashes of cameras or the reporters shoving Dictaphones under his nose. Thor had been forced to strong-arm three of them out the way before they reached the hospital entrance where Clint gratefully ditched the wheelchair in favour of limping straight into Natasha’s arms, both assassins hiding their faces in their partner’s neck as another round of camera flashes went off behind them.

“OK, buddy, let’s get you in the car,” said Steve, stepping between the press and his teammates when he noticed Clint’s balance waver slightly despite Natasha’s hold.

“Uh-huh,” said Clint, shifting so he could loop one arm around Natasha’s shoulders and wrap the other about Steve’s waist, the super-solider leading the way to the car.

“Happy!” greeted Clint as Tony’s driver stepped out the car to open the back door. Happy gave him a smile in return.

“It’s good to have you back with us, Clint,” he said visually assessing Clint’s wounds and current instability despite his two companions. “Though I think it will be new year before I want to see you back in the sparring ring.”

“Pfft,” said Clint, grabbing the roof of the car before sliding in. “Tis but a scratch.”

“In which case I do not want to know what you call a flesh wound,” Happy said, closing the door behind Natasha while Steve moved round to the other side of the vehicle.

“No,” protested Clint. “The line is ‘your arm’s come off.’ Ow, Tasha I have enough bruises!”

* * *

Tony wasn’t avoiding Clint, and least not consciously. He just happened to be spending a lot of time in his lab, working out how to create a suit for Clint that would give him the same range and flexibility as the neoprene and spandex mix that he usually wore but would give him better protection from whatever his job cared to throw at him. That the archer refused to wear sleeves or headgear beyond the communication’s earpiece (options Tony could understand given the man’s weapon of choice) only complicated matters for the engineer – it left a lot of skin and vital organs vulnerable.

“Natasha doesn’t wear armour either,” said Bruce, glancing over Tony’s shoulder to study his latest plans. “You planning on making her something like this too?”

“Natasha,” said Tony, using a stylus to alter some of the smaller details of the armour. “Is a watered-down version of Steve.”

“In what way?”

“Slower aging process, increased cognitive abilities, incredibly strong immune system,” listed off Tony as he stepped back to look at the whole image. “Souped-up healing abilities.”

“Clint isn’t fragile,” Bruce said. Tony spun on his heel and glared at his fellow scientist.

“Which part of having him unconscious for eight hours then stuck in hospital for another forty-three gave you that impression?” he demanded.

“The part where he walked out of that alive,” said Bruce, taking the stylus from Tony and collapsing the diagram behind him before tugging the engineer to the lab’s sofa-bed. “Tony, I understand why you’re freaking out but you’re reacting by trying to wrap Clint in your version of cotton-wool. He’s not going to thank you for it.”

“He needs new armour anyway,” protested Tony.

“I know,” said Bruce. “But he’ll be out of the field for at least a fortnight, you don’t have to prepare that now. What’s really bothering you?”

“What d’ya mean?” asked Tony. Bruce levelled a look at him that told him the Doctor wasn’t buying the confusion. It was remarkably similar to the one Phil had a habit of levelling at him and Tony made a note to monitor the level of contact that pair had.

“You’ve seen Clint injured before,” said Bruce. “You’ve seen _all_ of us injured before but you’ve never reacted like this. What’s different now?”

“I’ve got the time now,” said Tony. Bruce continued to watch him unconvinced.

“If it’s that important and time was your main concern, you’d be working on Clint’s armour instead of your suit,” he said. “This has scared you for some reason.”

“I’d say rattled rather than scared,” said Tony.

“And I’m gonna stick with outright freaking out,” said Bruce. “Seriously Tony, what’s going on?”

“He _is_ fragile, Bruce,” said Tony. “He’s fragile because he’s human.”

“So are you,” noted Bruce. Tony violently shook his head.

“I go into battle with wrapped in a multi-million dollar suit,” he said. “You are damn near indestructible thanks to the Other Guy. Steve and Natasha have the whole super-solider thing going for them and Thor is a demi-god. Taking any of us out takes a lot of work and a lot of firepower. Clint doesn’t have the same protection and I’m actually pissed that it took nearly losing him to a copy of nail-bombs to get me to realise that.”

“That’s not all you realised is it?” Bruce said gently. Tony opened his mouth to protest again but the words he wanted to utter died on his tongue and he slouched back in the sofa shaking his head.

“He’s part of what makes this worthwhile,” he said eventually. “You guys are great and the whole saving the world gig has its perks but I’m not sure it would be the same if I didn’t have them to come home to.”

“Them?” Bruce asked.

“Clint and Pepper.”

“Huh,” said Clint, sounding a little stumped as he made his presence in the lab known. Tony startled to his feet while Bruce turned to give him a small smile of welcome, though it was mingled with slight consternation that Clint was in the labs without a chaperone.

“Never thought I’d appear in that scenario,” Clint said, limping over to rest against one of the least cluttered benches, DUMMY rolling over inquisitively. “Let alone get put first.”

“Sorry?” said Tony, not sure if he should be readying an apology or a quick exit as he approached Clint. Clint smiled at him and Bruce didn’t have to see Tony’s face to know he’d instantly been forgotten about.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” said Clint. “Though I gotta ask why? Long as I’ve known you Pepper’s safety and well-being has been a major priority for you.”

“It blindsided me,” Tony admitted quietly. “About six months ago.”

“That the reason you split with Pepper?” Clint asked, looking wary about the answer. Tony gave a wry chuckle.

“I haven’t been with Pepper for a long time,” he said. “It’s a smoke screen, same as Phil’s Portland Cellist.”

“You do remember that Cellist is real, yes?” Clint said. Tony chuckled again.

“Yes,” he said. “But not in the way everyone thinks. Yes, DUMMY, what is it?”

DUMMY held out a red tartan bound sprig of leaves and berries for Tony’s inspection. Clint choked when he recognised the shape of the leaves and the snow-white of the berries while Tony stood blinking somewhat stupidly at the robot. DUMMY whirred and extended upwards so that he holding the mistletoe above Tony’s head. Tony’s stupefied expression became a glare.

“I know of several community colleges that would _love_ to have you,” he said. DUMMY whined and made to duck away but Clint chuckled and rested his arms around Tony’s shoulders.

“You’re going to duck out of a tradition that even Steveand Tasha follow?” he asked. “Just because you’re the one being set up this time round?”

“Clint I……” started Tony but the rest of his vaguely panicked statement was lost into Clint’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Merry Christmas Everyone" written by Bob Heatlie and sung by Shakin' Stevens.


	10. With heart and soul and voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Terry

Gingerbread.

There was an overwhelming taste of gingerbread and chocolate and Tony’s brain hurdled the panicked oh-shit-what-the-hell-am-I-doing protest in favour of chasing after every last remnant of the flavour. One hand cupping Clint’s cheek, he suckled the archer’s bottom lip for a minute before brushing his tongue across them in a plea for them to part. Tony felt Clint smile into the kiss before doing as requested, the archer’s tongue cautiously inviting Tony’s to play while his arms pulled Tony closer. Tony moaned at the back of his throat as he was surrounded by bands of heat and his hand abandoned Clint’s cheek in favour of wrapping his arm around Clint’s neck, the other sliding to gently cradle the archer’s injured hip.

DUMMY whirred questioningly before quietly rolling away, Tony clearly too busy to pay attention to him anymore while Bruce (his face a beautiful cherry red) made as quiet a getaway as he could.

One kiss became two which became three, neither man ready to end the steadily deepening contact between them. When the need for air finally forced the two men apart, one of Tony’s hands was wound into Clint’s hair and he used that hold to press their foreheads together, keeping his eyes closed as he sought to delay the moment where Clint shoved him away. It didn’t matter that Clint had instigated, and actively participated in, the kiss. Tony knew all too well how easy it was to become swept up in the expression as well as how little genuine feelings had to be involved for the contact to be enjoyable.

He wanted to pretend, if only for a couple more minutes, that Clint’s response wasn’t the result of the garland of mistletoe.

“Tony,” murmured Clint, pulling his forehead away. Tony made a noise of protest and tried to follow only to have an arm release him to cup his cheek. Tony startled as if struck and his eyes shot open to look at Clint, his hitched breathing now only partly due to the kiss. Clint smiled gently.

“Hey,” he said, brushing his thumb across Tony’s cheekbone. “You OK?”

“No,” said Tony, shakily. “No I’m not even remotely _close_ to OK.”

Clint’s smile vanished and his eyes shuttered at Tony’s words, his arms falling away from Tony’s body to hang somewhat uselessly beside him. He was unable to move further away, Tony’s own body half-pinning him to the work bench and his injuries seriously hampering his agility and strength.

“Let me go,” he said quietly, his glance now somewhere on the ground to their left. Tony, his mind trying scrambling to catch up with what was happening, took an unsteady step backwards. Clint glanced back at him as he retook his own weight and the only word that would come to Tony’s mind to describe his expression was ‘heartbroken’.

Wait, what?

By the time Tony’s mind had caught up, Clint had managed to limp to the door – the archer could move quickly when necessary, regardless of how physically compromised he was. Tony sprang after him, slamming him into the glass partition, grabbing the hands that swung up to defend their owner. Not ready to speak just yet, a small part of his brain still determining that he’d made a mistake, Tony caught Clint’s lips in another kiss. Clint whimpered into the engineer’s mouth, his fingers flexing in Tony’s hold before gripping them tightly as he once more returned the fervent kisses.

“It wasn’t the mistletoe,” Tony panted out when air forced them apart again.

“Get out of jail free card,” Clint replied, relaxing his grip on one of Tony’s hands enough to slide his own free and cupped Tony’s cheek once more.

“Six months?” he said with a shaky laugh. “Try five years.”

“Five years?” repeated Tony, blinking somewhat stupidly (he was seriously going to have to edit JARVIS’ recordings from the last half-hour otherwise he was going to lose all form of credibility). “Five _years_?!”

“Genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist,” said Clint with a resigned expression. “I’m a dyslexic, runaway, circus kid with a juvie record who is only getting a shot at playing with the big boys because I walked headlong into one of Phil’s Ops and he was in the mood to be sympathetic. I counted myself lucky that I was able to claim you as a friend – I wasn’t going to push it by seriously dreaming I’d get a shot at more.”

Tony couldn’t think of a response that wasn’t either a cliché or corny as hell, both of which would cheapen the moment. Instead he moved so that he was taking more of Clint’s weight and brushed his nose against Clint’s before instigating another kiss.

Behind them, the glass panelling of the lab walls frosted over as JARVIS activated the privacy protocols.

* * *

The Canadian-born snowstorm hit New York a couple days behind schedule but the delay had seen it pick up intensity. The result was Clint sitting with as much of his body pressed against the glass panelling of the Penthouse as his injuries allowed for, his attention fixed firmly on the ever-growing winter wonderland of New York’s skyline. Thor, ever one to be caught up in Clint’s childish enthusiasm for things that would have most adults cursing a blue-streak, was sitting beside him once more expounding on the various snowstorms that he had witnessed on Asgard during his youth. Tony had settled himself on the floor against the wet-bar, alternating between watching the pair in amusement and once more developing schematics for Hawkeye’s new armour. He had just turned his head to locate his cup of coffee when Thor’s booming laugh heralded a Raider I Boot knife landing in the wood panelling behind him, the weapon balancing on its imbedded tip a mere inch away from where Tony’s right ear had been. The engineer yelped in mingled surprise and fright and upset his drink as he scrambled away from the blade. Natasha landed in a crouch before him, preventing his escape.

“Clint does not always think with head,” she said quietly, casually inspecting another knife as she spoke. “Is his strength but also biggest weakness.”

“Your point?” asked Tony, biting back a comment about the assassin being responsible for getting the knife damage fixed.

“He has loved wrong person before,” said Natasha with a deadly calm that everyone had a healthy respect for. “They are still looking for body.”

“I think Clint can look after himself,” said Tony.

“From threat he can see,” said Natasha. “Shadows and silence is more difficult. My assessment was not wrong, Stark, and you have not changed that much.”

“Yet here I am,” said Tony, reaching over his shoulder to yank the Raider out of the wood panelling and slapping it back into Natasha’s hand before standing up. “Are you sure your assessment was correct, Ms Rushman?”

“Yes,” Natasha said definitely.

As she watched Clint once again nestle himself happily into Tony’s side, however, she caught a glimpse of what Pepper had found so glaringly obvious and while she had complete faith in Clint’s undercover abilities, Tony had never found the need or desire to develop such a skill. And even if he had, level of genuine affection Natasha was now witnessing was difficult to fake, even for those of Oscar Award winning calibre.

Pepper. She needed to speak to Pepper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Good Christian Men Rejoice" arranged by J.M. Neale


	11. Oh the weather outside is frightful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. Had a term paper due for uni that was demanding my attention.

“Boss, I need a favour,” said Clint as he dropped into the sofa in Phil’s office on Level 64 of the Tower. After his attempt at missing the Thursday Night ritual in the summer, Tony had insisted that the Agent take an office in the building – as well as giving over a level to be his apartment. The engineer claimed that it did not make any sense for the Avengers to all live and work out of one location but their handler to be across the city. Phil had been uncomfortable about the offers to start with – not least because he wasn’t supposed to be the Avengers’ handler in the _first_ place – but Fury had agreed with Tony’s argument and stopped just short of making it an order to his Deputy. (Phil would never voice his suspicion that if Jasper Sitwell or Maria Hill had pushed to be the Avengers’ handler, neither offer would have been made let alone agreement actively pursued by Tony.)

“Depends on the favour,” the Agent said, looking up from the report he was reading.

“St Nick’s,” said Clint. “Tonight’s supposed to be when they go to the movies.”

“But you’re grounded and the snowstorm has snarled the transport system,” said Phil. “What you proposing?”

“That we bring them here,” said Clint.

“All forty-five?” Phil asked, his mind already working out the logistics of moving that many children, plus chaperones, across the snow-stricken city. Clint shook his head.

“Just half the pre-teens,” he said. “The munchkins go at the weekend and the teenagers take themselves.”

“Which add up to……”

“Twelve kids,” said Clint. “And two chaperones. Any chance we can get SUVs from the motor-pool? If Happy, you and Tasha drive, it’ll free up space that we can do it in one trip.”

“You trust Tasha to drive in New York?” asked Phil with a wince. The Agent wasn’t easily spooked but Natasha was _terrifying_ when she was allowed behind a wheel, concepts like speed limits, stop-lights and other road users not really registering with her.

“Tasha was trained to drive in snow,” said Clint. “And she knows what the kids and the nuns mean to me.”

“So she’ll at least _try_ and keep the stunts to a minimum,” surmised Phil with a smile. “Alright, I’ll arrange the cars. Does Tony know what you’re up to?”

“Not yet,” said Clint. “But Pepper does and this place _is_ twelve per cent hers. I’m gonna try arguing that that’s the bit we’ll be using.”

Phil laughed and closing the file he had been reading, reached around for his jacket.

“That is a conversation I want to see,” he said. “Now?”

“Good a time as any,” said Clint, clambering carefully back to his feet and wrapping an arm around his midriff as a few of his stitches pulled. Phil was at his side immediately, wordlessly offering a shoulder for balance while Clint got the pain back under control.

“Does Mother Mary Catherine know you’ve been injured?” he asked when Clint let him go again. “Does Hannah?”

“Hannah saw the explosion on TV,” said Clint, scrubbing the back of his head as the pair headed for the elevator up to the labs. “I got an earful from her Saturday night. Think she was all set to give me another one when her and Damien brought Mother to see me in hospital on Sunday but settled on attempting to hug me to death. Not sure what annoyed them most – the bomber, the security detail or the press.”

“I’m guessing a mix of all three,” said Phil with a chuckle. “You know she called the Director to complain? Something about you being an important part of the community and that SHIELD needed to take better care of you.”

“What did Fury say?”

“That just because you’ve grown older by fifteen years doesn’t mean that you’d decided to grow _up_ at any point,” said Phil. Clint inhaled sharply through his teeth, picturing Mother Mary Catherine’s reaction to such a statement. Phil looked at him with a gentle smile.

“And that he had his best people working on it,” he finished as the elevator doors opened directly into Tony’s lab. “You want to know what Tony’s been working on since Friday night?”

“Ah-tat-at,” said Tony, stalking towards the pair and shooting Phil a mild warning look. “It’s still a work in progress – no spilling the beans, Agent.”

“So longs it doesn’t take you six months to tell me this secret, I can live with that,” said Clint, smiling as he moulded himself into Tony’s side, settling his head on the engineer’s shoulder. Tony, though startled at the overt display of intimate contact while Phil was hovering, nevertheless wrapped an arm around Clint’s waist. Phil chuckled.

“About damn time,” he said. “I want the details later.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Clint agreed easily.

“Wait, why are you not surprised by this?” Tony asked, looking at Phil. Phil laughed again.

“The two of you have been hands-on with each other from the day you were introduced,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” said Tony, not convinced. “You knew didn’t you?”

“I’m third-in-command of SHIELD,” said Phil. “It’s my job to know its important assets in detail.”

“Is _that_ why you kept threatening to tase me?” Tony demanded, feeling Clint silently laughing against him.

“Possibly,” said Phil with a smirk. Tony looked at Clint, an eyebrow raised in question.

“I’m Phil’s asset,” said Clint with a shrug. “Where he goes, I followed. Lot of long car journeys – gotta fill the time somehow.”

“So you progressing from tasing to knife throwing too?” asked Tony, turning back to Phil. Phil’s expression didn’t change while Clint turned his head into Tony’s shoulder with a groan.

“I am so sorry,” he murmured.

“I’ll speak to her,” said Phil. “But for now, Clint which twelve per cent of this building is Pepper currently claiming?”

“Top eleven floors,” said Clint, turning his head again. Tony kept looking between them, waiting for someone to explain that particular non-sequitur.

“ _Why_ is Pepper claiming the top eleven floors of the Tower?” he asked when no answer seemed to be forthcoming.

“So the kids at St Nick’s don’t miss out on their movie trip,” said Clint, moving back a few steps, not really prepared to have the discussion curled into Tony’s side. “Phil’s gonna organise the transport and we’re hosting. Pepper’s claiming her twelve percent so that, in the event of your refusal, she can claim we aren’t using _your_ Tower for the event.”

“This place isn’t exactly geared for dealing with rug-rats, Legolas,” Tony said carefully.

“Just as well it’s not them I’m inviting then,” grinned Clint. “It’s the pre-teens.”

“Oh, God,” bemoaned Tony. “I’d rather take the rug-rats!”

“You might just get ‘em Saturday,” said Clint. Tony choked and stared at him incredulously. Phil was wearing a grin to rival Clint’s and look very close to outright laughing at the engineer.

“They break anything and I’m using _your_ pay to fix the damage,” warned Tony.

“That a yes?” asked Clint.

“It’s a ‘you’ve-already-made-plans-so-I’m-making-contingency-plans’,” replied Tony. Clint, taking the decided lack of a ‘no’ as agreement, whooped in delight, kissed Tony briefly and turned back to the elevator, fishing out his phone to call the orphanage and tell them the good news. That left Tony facing Phil, whose laughter had faded until only his Agent persona was left.

“I may not resort to Natasha’s tactics of outright threats,” he said calmly. “But do not labour under the impression I am any less protective of Clint.”

“Don’t hurt him or you’ll kill me?” asked Tony, looking unimpressed. “Doesn’t SHIELD teach you guys any _other_ way to threaten people?”

 “I will not kill you, Tony,” said Phil calmly. “I will _ruin_ you then let Natasha play with what remains.”

“I’m beginning to resent the idea that _I’m_ the one that will do any hurting,” Tony said sharply.

“Then ask JARVIS for the warnings that Bruce, Happy and Pepper gave Clint,” said Phil, his gentle smile returning. “You’re orphans, Tony. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a family watching your back.”

* * *

Five hours later, twelve pre-teens, two nuns, four Avengers and one quasi-civilian handler were crowded into the communal lounge of Stark Tower, making their way steadily through bowls of buttered or sugary popcorn, packets of dried fruit and litres of juice all the while thoroughly engrossed in _Rise of the Guardians_. The children were amazed that Tony was able to stream a movie that was only just released in the theatres but when they pestered for the how, Tony mentioned something about a magician never revealing his tricks. Sister Mary Stephen had looked somewhat disapprovingly at the engineer, Steve emulating the expression when someone mentioned video-pirating.

“You hacked the movie theatre, didn’t you?” said Phil, sardonically.

“Not that hard,” Tony replied, reaching out to snag a handful of popcorn from the bowl that was passing by his elbow.

“Tony, they are from a Catholic orphanage!” Steve said from the engineer’s other side.

“Your point?” asked Tony.

“Morality,” said Steve. “You are effectively teaching these kids that stealing is OK so longs they enjoy themselves!”

“Uh-huh,” said Tony. “See, Legolas and I have already discussed this. The kids and the nuns don’t get to know the background details but I hack the theatre, giving the kids the movie experience they were due before Mother Nature decided to screw them over. Tomorrow, Pepper and Bruce go down to the theatre with a cheque to cover the cost of the tickets plus a bit spare change. What am I missing?”

“When the kids are gone, we are going to have a serious discussion about your moral ambiguity,” said Steve, stalking back into the lounge.

“The kids are happy, Clint’s happy, the theatre is squared with,” said Tony, looking back at Phil in slight confusion. “And the hacking is hardly something new. What exactly am I doing wrong?”

“Remember where he’s from, Tony,” Phil said with a gentle smile before directing the engineer’s attention to the middle of the gathering where Clint sat being used as a muddle of pillow and chair by at least three of the children. He was apparently surreptitiously encouraging the kids to throw popcorn at the screen whenever Pitch, the movie’s antagonist, appeared and was smiling in such a way that there was no way anyone could doubt his delight at his current location. (Even if he was wincing every time Sister Mary Stephen caught a popcorn kernel flying – she was just close enough to smack the archer around the ear and taking full advantage).

“You’re responsible for that smile,” Phil said, shifting his weight in readiness to move. “For that, _I_ can forgive you just about anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow" written by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne


	12. With all of the folks at home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally back. Real life is annoyingly demanding this time of year!

“Just to inform you, Chief,” said Officer Marc ‘Kit’ Campbell when he exited the elevator into Level 72, the floor Tony had given over to Phil for his apartment. “You may soon have me as an _ex_ son-in-law.”

“What have you done?” said Phil as he emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a tea-towel.

“Forgot to tell Thom that you’re neighbours with the Avengers,” said Kit.

“To be fair, he’s been in Sri Lanka for the last four months,” said Phil, throwing the tea-towel across his shoulder.

“Not a good excuse to use with someone who _proposed_ over the airwaves,” Kit said, looking a little chagrined. “Any particular reason _you_ haven’t told him?”

“He was in Sri Lanka,” repeated Phil. “And a small part of me wanted to be able to see his face when he found out.”

“That’s mean,” said Kit with a small laugh.

“I _did_ warn him that revenge serves best when least expected,” said Phil. “Come on, I’ll show you were to ditch your gear. Where is Thom anyway? I half expected the two of you to be joined at the hip given your welcome home.”

“Downstairs explaining to his Mom why we’re in New York and not going back to Portland ’til after New Year,” said Kit.

“You decided to wait till you’d _arrived_ to do that?” Phil said incredulously. Kit shook his head.

“Called her as soon as we knew for definite,” he said. “She’s been trying to persuade us to change our minds for the last three weeks.”

“Hope you don’t pay for that loyalty,” said Phil with a wince. Kit shrugged and looked completely blasé about the situation as he dropped his duffle bag at the foot of the bed and shrugged out his standard SHIELD-issue utility vest.

“Thom’s home – we could be spending Christmas at HQ and I’d be happy,” he said. “ _And_ I promised Nana-Peggy that I’d bring Thom around to visit as soon as he was back stateside. Now, who exactly do I owe for fiddling the duty roster so I have the next twenty days off with my fiancé?”

“You both had the vacation time,” said Phil. “I just persuaded Hernandez that you should take some of it. I may have indicated that you had something other than Christmas to celebrate.”

“Works for me,” said Kit, upending his duffle on the bed and sorting the contents into piles.

“Dad!” called Thom as the elevator door sounded again.

“Turn left,” called back Phil, moving into the hallway again to find his son looking somewhere bedazzled and bemused as he took in his surroundings.

“You moved!” Thom said, sounding thoroughly unimpressed by the lack of communication.

“Wasn’t really given much of a choice,” said Phil with a laugh. “Surely you haven’t forgotten what Tony’s like.”

“No,” said Thom. “But still!”

“Least he didn’t leave you standing outside his old apartment for forty-five minutes,” said Kit, appearing in the doorway behind them. “Suárez is still bitching about that by the way.”

“Serves the bastard right,” said Phil. “It was my weekend off.”

“One of you could’ve told me,” griped Thom.

“Doesn’t have nearly the same effect as showing you,” said Phil. “Ditch your gear then I’ll take you upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” repeated Thom, blinking. Kit grinned and stepped forward to relieve his fiancé of the rucksack his was carrying.

“Anything breakable?” he asked. Thom shook his head and then yelped as Kit turned and literally threw the bag into their room.

“You’re not gonna want to miss this,” Kit said, chivvying Thom back down the hall, Phil following them even as he shook his head in bemusement.

* * *

“Agent!” greeted Tony as the three men arrived in the communal floor. “Oh and the baby-Agents are here too – is it Wednesday already?”

“It’s been Wednesday for the last eighteen hours,” remarked Kit. Tony stuck his tongue out at the tactical-sniper before turning to seriously consider the trio before him.

“This is _not_ gonna work in my favour!” he declared.

“Do I want to know?” asked Phil.

“I’m _trying_ to persuade Steve that moving to LA was a good move for the Dodgers,” said Tony. “He ain’t buying it.”

“Of _course_ he’s not gonna buy that,” said Phil. “He’s a New Yorker and he’s old enough to remember when they actually played in Brooklyn. He was _there_ when they won the NL Pendant in ’41.”

“But since they moved to LA they’ve won the World Series five times,” protested Tony. “And nine more Pendants.”

“Compared to the _twelve_ they won before the move?” asked Phil. “Not to mention their first World Series win and AA Pendant.”

“Were you a fan of the Dodgers before or after you became a Captain America fan-boy?” snarked Tony, unimpressed that he was indeed outnumbered in this argument. Phil laughed.

“Neither,” he said. “I’m from Boston – I follow the Red Sox.”

“Damn,” grumbled Tony before raising his voice. “Steve! You’re still wrong but I can’t be bothered arguing this anymore today. Baby-Agents – how long you staying?”

“’Til New Year,” said Kit.

“And it’s all vacation?” asked Tony, glancing between the two young men.

“Unless the end of the world really does start on 21st,” said Thom. “Who’s Steve?”

“I keep forgetting you aren’t around all the time,” said Tony with a grin. “Steve is Captain Steven Rogers aka Captain America aka your Dad’s first crush. _Ouch!_ ”

“You deserved it,” shouted Clint as Steve appeared to retrieve the wooden spatula that had collided expertly with the back of Tony’s head.

“Negative reinforcement for telling the truth is _not_ how that trick is supposed to work!” Tony exclaimed as he grabbed the spatula from Steve and stalked back into the kitchen, leaving Steve with a grinning Phil, a somewhat shifty looking Kit and a once more bedazzled looking Thom.

“Hi,” said Steve, used to the expression, and stuck his hand out to Thom. “Steve Rogers. The Captain part gets left at the door.”

“Thom Coulson,” said Thom automatically.

“There’s a Doctor at the start of that,” said Kit.

“That a proper doctor or a Tony-style Doctor?” Steve asked, leading the way back into the kitchen.

“Hey!” protested Tony from where he was now stacking plates and cutlery on to the counter, wooden spatula stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans. Clint chuckled from where he was stirring something in one of the pots.

“Proper doctor,” said Thom. “Paediatrics.”

“But not for the next twenty-days,” said Kit.

“You’ve come to the wrong place for that kind of break,” said Bruce as he appeared in the kitchen. “Clint’s already burst his stitches three times.”

“What?” the two newcomers asked while Clint shot Bruce a look that spoke of betrayal as he turned around properly.

“Had a minor disagreement with a couple of nail-bombs on Friday,” he said. Both Tony and Phil looked disagreeable to the use of the word ‘minor’ while Thom inhaled sharply at the bruising and cuts that still decorated Clint’s face. Kit darted forward for a more tactile investigation.

“Stitches?” he asked, all thoughts of watching his fiancé go starry-eyed as he realised exactly who his father worked with on a daily basis vanishing from his head in light of this revelation.

“Forty,” said Clint, pulling his shirt up to show the protective gauze patch that was taped to his side. “Twenty-five there, fifteen down the outside of my right knee.”

“Séig,” Kit breathed, a shaky finger tracing the edge of the zinc oxide tape.

“Kit, wait ‘til after dinner,” said Phil, shooting Clint a look that clearly indicated that the archer would be doing whatever necessary to assure both Thom and Kit that he was alright. “JARVIS, will Tasha, Pepper and Thor be joining us for dinner?”

“Prince Thor and Agent Romanoff are on their way,” said JARVIS, startling Thom just enough to have him go wide-eyed again at the names. “Ms Potts sends her apologies – the meeting she is attending this afternoon has run over time. She asks that you save her some of the pasta and sauce.”

“Already done,” said Clint, nudging Kit back to Thom’s side.

“Go help Bruce and Phil set the table,” he directed. Both young men nodded and looked expectantly at the scientist and Agent. Phil handed Kit the tray of cutlery before collecting the tray of glasses while Bruce gave Thom the pile of dinner plates before scooping up the three drinks pitchers.

“This way,” said Bruce.

* * *

“Wait!” Steve suddenly commanded, interrupting Thom and Bruce’s in-depth conversation bemoaning the fact that keeping their injured hawk down so he would heal properly was damned difficult as well as the various medical conditions they had both encountered during their sojourns in the Indian Subcontinent. Everyone at the table turned to face the super-soldier who was staring at Thom and Kit in stark realisation of something.

“ _You’re_ Phil’s Portland cellist?” Steve said. Tony and Natasha both snorted (though Natasha was a little more lady-like in the otherwise disgusting action of forcefully exhaling juice through one’s nose) while Clint laughed.

“Cellist, violinist and violist,” the archer said. Kit shared the man’s laugh while Thom flicked a quick series of peas at Clint.

“It calms the kids far better than your singing,” Thom snarked before turning to Steve. “This came into conversation how?”

“When Loki attacked the SHIELD ’carrier,” said Steve. “Phil was taken down in the fight and Fury told us he was dead. I asked if there was anyone we should contact and Tony mentioned a cellist in Portland.”

“Ah,” said Thom raising an eyebrow at his father even as he grabbed for Kit’s hand, the tactical-sniper paling at the reminder of that fateful day aboard Fury’s flying fortress. “No one’s worked out I’m your son?”

“Yeah, Phil doesn’t give that detail,” said Tony, turning away from his conversation with Thor. “You are, technically, a cellist and you are based, officially, in Portland.”

“With the exception of the Director, the _only_ people in SHIELD who dare to question what the Chief tells them are sitting around this table,” Kit added with a chuckle. Clint looked ridiculously proud of the distinction while Natasha preened slightly. Phil looked at both of them fondly, shaking his head in bemusement.

“It’s safer than explaining specifically who you are,” he said to Thom. “I don’t deny who you are if people ask but I don’t exactly proclaim who you are either – I like keeping _some_ secrets from the people I command and it affords both you and Kit some level of protection and anonymity.”

“Me?” asked Kit.

“You want it common knowledge that your father-in-law is SHIELD’s T.I.C?” asked Phil.

“Point,” agreed Kit. “Though begs the question of how we come up into conversation.”

“He’s got three photos on his desk,” said Clint. “One of those multi-image frame things. Has a picture of you and Thom, one of me and Tasha and one of him with an old army buddy.”

“That sounds risky,” said Steve, Bruce nodding in agreement. Thor looked mildly curious while Tony grinned, Natasha echoing the sentiment.

“It’s a statement,” the Russian said.

“This is my family,” said Phil. “They have my back and I have theirs.”

“You screw with one, you screw with all,” said Clint.

“That’s one hell of a warning,” said Bruce. The two assassins, Kit and Thom grinned while Phil couldn’t help but look proud of the foursome who had adopted him as their patriarch.

“One that even Fury takes seriously,” said Phil.

“Now, if we can just get the _rest_ of the world to do the same,” said Clint.

“You’d be bored stupid within a month,” declared Thom.

“Hey!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Irish Translation**
> 
> **Séig** – hawk
> 
>  
> 
> Title from "Christmas in Killarney" written by John Redmond, James Cavanaugh and Frank Weldon


	13. Ransack the mall, shop until you lose your mind

“Whatever it is that makes it so damn difficult to say ‘no’ to Clint I want to register as a lethal weapon,” declared Pepper as she entered the kitchen in search of coffee. Thom, who was flicking through his photographs trying to decide what to add into his report on his Médecins Sans Frontières Sri Lankan tour, laughed as he glanced up from his laptop.

“I think it already is,” he said. “But Dad’s the one with the activation key.”

“And he is currently no help whatsoever,” Pepper complained, sorting the machine and digging out two cups. “Your partner’s not helping matters either.”

“Fiancé,” said Thom, taking the pencil from behind his ear and scribbling in the notebook at his elbow. “And Clint encourages Kit not the other way around.”

“Doesn’t matter _which_ way around it is,” said Pepper, pouring coffee into both cups before adding a splash of milk into each and setting them on the table. “They are driving me crazy. Did you say fiancé?”

“I did,” grinned Thom, holding up his hand to show the twist of silver and gold that encircled his left ring finger.

“Details!” commanded Pepper, snatching Thom’s hand forward to examine his ring.

“I proposed about six weeks after I arrived in Sri Lanka,” said Thom, laughing at Pepper’s enthusiasm. “Over the radio is hardly the most romantic setting but I’d had a really rough day – I’d lost three kids within twenty-four hours – and when Kit told me about having spent his own day trying to rescue one of his own men from a frozen lake that wasn’t as frozen as they’d been assured, I found the question spilling out. He said yes at the time and when I landed back in the US he met me in the airport with a ring and dropped to his knees to repeat the question.”

“That was brave,” commented Pepper as she released Thom’s hand. The younger man chuckled.

“He said the scariest part was doing it while Dad was hovering behind him,” he said.

“Now really,” said Pepper, sounding put out on Phil’s behalf. “What has Phil done to garner such a reputation?”

“He’s SHIELD’s T.I.C and fiercely protective of those he calls his own,” said Thom with a shrug. “Kit’s part of that but I’m his son. When Happy asks you to marry him, ask he what the hardest part was.”

“For someone who isn’t around a lot, you seem very caught up on the goings on around here,” commented Pepper, flushing delicately.

“Whenever Clint or Tony get excited, I get a phone call,” said Thom. “That their sister is _finally_ being wined-and-dined by the man who’s been watching her for well over a decade was big news. Now, what is Clint up to that has you ready to throw him off the balcony?”

“Christmas shopping,” said Pepper. “It is twelve days before Christmas and he has decided _now_ is the best time to hit the shops. I caught him making lists with Thor and Kit who seemed to be encouraging the ridiculousness of the suggestions rather than trying to temper them.”

“You’ve never been around Clint at Christmas have you?” asked Phil as he appeared in the kitchen. Pepper shook her head and didn’t appear to know if she should look relieved or dismayed at the idea.

“The last proper Christmas he had was when he was six-years-old,” said Phil. “Even the foster-family who taught him to bake had to give him up come the New Year. He tried when he joined SHIELD but we’re an organisation doesn’t really celebrate anything beyond a successful mission so he usually found himself on one mission or another. This is the first time in twenty-two years he’s been allowed the freedom to celebrate and to have all his family around him. He’s making the most of it.”

“Twenty-two years?” asked Pepper, somewhat startled. Phil nodded.

“I think we can forgive some of his excitement,” he said.

“Only some?” said Thom with a knowing look at his father. Phil chuckled but neither refuted nor qualified Thom’s statement with further comment. Pepper looked between the two men and quickly drained her coffee.

“Jacket and credit card, Phil,” she said. “We have a shopping trip to marshal.”

* * *

“Remind me again why I thought this was a good idea,” Pepper said to Phil three hours later as she quickly moved to avoid being hit in the leg for the fourth time in ten minutes.

“You didn’t actually explain that bit,” laughed Phil, taking her arm and swinging her around to his other side, protecting her somewhat exposed shins from the numerous sharp-edged bags the woman in front of them was carrying.

“So I didn’t,” said Pepper. “I just can’t picture anyone not getting excited about Christmas. I loved the chaos when I was a child – Christmas Day with a Tree and presents and home-cooked food made everything worth it. He seriously went without that for twenty-two years?”

“He did,” said Phil, smiling as Kit all but dragged Clint into a melee of middle-aged women who all seemed to be fighting over the same selection of knitted sweaters, neither sniper seeming to remember that Clint had twenty-five stitches in his abdomen. “He would’ve continued to largely ignore the holiday if he hadn’t met Kit.”

“Pardon?”

“Clint didn’t celebrate for himself,” said Phil. “He would give gifts and wish holiday cheer if he thought someone would appreciate it but he didn’t actually care if the recipient said ‘thank you’ or ‘piss off’. Then, thirteen years ago fourteen-year-old Marc Campbell arrived at St Nicholas Orphanage, the only survivor of a two-car smash. Covered in cuts and bruises, his left arm in a bright-blue cast and partially deaf because of a head-injury, he was not at all interested in aiding his own healing. The nuns at St Nick’s were beside themselves with worry and when Clint turned up to help with their St Nicholas meal, Sister Mary Rose asked him to speak to the boy. No one but them knows what was said between them but gradually Kit healed and Clint started to take more of an interest in celebrating the little things in his life. When Kit turned eighteen, Clint brought him in to be a SHIELD officer.”

“Where he met you and Thom,” said Pepper.

“In a roundabout way yes,” said Phil, laughing lightly at the way Clint was waving his arm furiously in their direction. “I think they want your opinion on something.”

“Sure it isn’t yours they want?” Pepper said, eying the mass of shoppers somewhat warily. Phil continued to laugh.

“They know better than to drag me into that kind of crowd,” he said. “I’ll go find us a pick-me-up.”

“Hazelnut latte,” declared Pepper. “Large with no foam.”

* * *

“I encouraged you into paediatrics for a reason,” griped Clint as Thom peeled away the gauze pad from his side to examine the stitching.

“I know,” smirked Thom. “And my patients certainly pay more attention than you when I tell them to settle down. What in the world possessed you to go shopping in the physical sense? Tony not giving you access to the internet?”

“It’s not the same,” said Clint. Thom chuckled before turning his attention to the row of stitching. “And the hell your kids listen to you – most of them are SHIELD brats.”

“When they know you’re the one who decides if their medicine is laced with syrup or not they tend to listen better,” he said, rolling his eyes as he noted Clint had once more pulled his stitches, rupturing three of them. “For someone who detests medical orders, you have an odd habit of making sure you stay under them for longer.”

“I haven’t been _doing_ anything,” said Clint. “Tony, Bruce and your Dad are making a point of keeping me grounded. And JARVIS is backing them up.”

“Except for the shopping spree earlier,” said Thom, reaching for a set of scissors and forceps. “And they do it because they care about you.”

“Whereas _you_ like to use me as a pin cushion,” snarked Clint, flinching slightly as the healing skin pulled under Thom’s ministrations.

“Something like that,” chuckled Thom. “I’m gonna have to redo all of these for them to remain effective but the three you keep bursting are doing you more harm than good – I’m gonna take them out and _keep_ them out. You’re gonna bleed easier for a couple days ’til the scab properly takes but you’re gonna stop increasing the size of wound.”

“Thanks,” said Clint.

“No problem,” said Thom. “Though, _you_ are the one who will be explaining to Kit just what your desire for authenticity has done to your injuries.”

“Bastard,” Clint declared, hissing as Thom finished off his latest stitch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Christmas Can-Can" by Straight No Chaser


	14. Family and friends come together again in the spirit of love

Steve was fairly sure he’d missed something. Clint and Tony’s tactile behaviour was something that had startled and confused him when he first observed the pair together outside a combat situation but when no one else commented or reacted negatively to the behaviour, Steve decided against making protest – this wasn’t his time, what constituted acceptable behaviour had been redefined several times while he was asleep and the last thing he wanted to do was cause an upset over something perfectly normal. There were moments where he was uncomfortable with the extent to which Tony and Clint were tactile but with Clint often emulating the behaviour with Natasha or Phil, by and large Steve ignored them.

Tonight, however, something was different.

As was the norm, the octet plus their guests were crowded together in a messy tangle of limbs, blankets and pillows. On the screen played _Die Hard 2_ (someone really needed to talk to Natasha about her perchance for bloody, violent movies) and bowls of buttery popcorn were being passed around. What _wasn’t_ the norm was the way Tony and Clint were exclusively curled together, pressed back-to-chest with Tony as the so-called little spoon. Clint’s arm was wrapped possessively around the engineer and his hand curled with Tony’s just below the blue rim of the arc reactor while the other was shoved under Tony’s neck, the bicep acting as something of a pillow while the hand carded randomly through Tony’s hair. Tony was close to sleep – and Steve desperately wanted to know how he managed that considering the yelling, explosions and repeated gunfire on the screen – while Clint looked so calm and content, the Captain was becoming convinced that the pair would be camping out in the communal lounge that night. Across from them, Thom and Kit were making use of the fact no one had raised comment to their friend’s intimate curl to form their own, though they were sitting up against the sofa rather than curled on the floor as if for sleep.

“You’re staring,” Phil said quietly beside him. Steve startled and he could feel his face heat up as he quickly looked back at the screen.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he tried to catch up with the plot of the movie. Phil chuckled lightly and threw a kernel of his popcorn at Clint. Neither the archer nor engineer so much as flinched as the snack landed on Clint’s bare arm. As though to prove a point, Phil tossed another kernel at them and again received a lack of response.

“The world doesn’t exist for them at the moment,” he said, settling back against his own pillow. “Though, I’m curious as to what you find fascinating.”

“That’s a lover’s embrace,” Steve said quietly, aware that his face turning tomato-red as he spoke.

“One that has been five years in the making,” said Phil, glancing to his right just in time to witness Kit pressing a kiss to Thom’s temple and pulling the younger man closer to him. His expression was serious when he turned back to Steve. “You are entitled to your opinions, Steve, just be careful how you express them.”

“Yes, Sir,” Steve said quietly, not entirely able to say he was comfortable with the overt expression of affection and appreciating that Phil had not pushed him. However, until it became a problem with either the team dynamic or with field operations, Steve would hold back any negative comment.

Besides, even he could not deny that the couples were cute together.

* * *

“So how long have you and Tony been an item?” Kit asked soon as he arrived for breakfast the following morning. Tony blinked owlishly at the younger sniper while Clint aspirated the mouthful of orange juice he’d just taken. “Last I’d heard you were still watching from a not-so-safe distance.”

“Ah, officially?” said Tony. “Three days.”

“Huh,” said Thom, looking vaguely surprised. “Not what it looked like last night.”

“Last night was normal,” said Clint, sitting down beside Tony.

“Not buying it,” said Kit, shaking his head. “All the time I’ve known you, no one’s ever been able to sneak up on you without you letting them. Last night you were completely gone – Chief hit you at least twice with popcorn and you didn’t even flinch.”

“Ergh, I can do _without_ the lectures of constant vigilance,” Clint complained, stabbing at his bowl of cereal. Thom chuckled.

“Regular occurrence?” he asked.

“To the point he can recite it back,” said Phil as he appeared with Bruce and Natasha, who immediately started giving Clint a lecture in Russian. Clint stuck his tongue out at Phil before turning to Natasha and replying in her own tongue, startling all except Natasha herself.

“He do that with French as well?” asked Tony, looking at Phil. Phil chuckled before busying himself with the coffee pot, leaving the question unanswered while Bruce flushed red again.

“Eh, yeah, before you start with that,” said Thom, completely unfazed by the topic. “I am warning you to take things easy with him – there is a limit to how often stitches can be replaced before it becomes counter-productive. I am _also_ charging you with making sure he doesn’t push his limits.”

“Gentle,” mused Tony, watching Clint continue to bicker in Russian with Natasha. “I can do gentle.”

Bruce tried desperately to hide behind his own coffee mug while Phil took his turn at aspirating his drink.

* * *

“So everyone knows,” said Tony as he leaned in the doorway to Clint’s bedroom later that day, watching the younger man wrap the multitude of purchases he had made a couple of days prior.

“And no one seems particularly bothered,” said Clint, catching an edge of wrapping paper with a piece of sticky tape before raising his head to notice that Tony was looking slightly nervous. “Except maybe you. What’s up?”

“If it took the Avengers and Phil’s kids less than three days to work out that we were together without either of us explicitly saying anything,” said Tony, walking forward to accept the hand that Clint was holding out to him. “How long do you think the press’ll take?”

“We’re talking about two professional spies, two intelligence operatives, a demi-god, a genius, your best friend and a paediatrician who has known us for at _least_ six years,” said Clint, tugging Tony down on to the opposite side of the bed from his wrapping project. “Most of who we live with and none of whom we’ve been hiding from. It’ll take press a little longer to work things out.”

“You deliberately forgetting the way I used to take up the page-6 spread on an almost weekly basis?” asked Tony.

“Nope,” said Clint with a grin. “Made a point to keep a few of the articles.”

“Why the hell……”

“You can take a good picture,” said Clint with an unabashed shrug. “’specially when you decide the tux needs an outing.”

“You really have no shame,” said Tony, unable to stop his chuckle. Clint shook his head.

“I’ve nothing to be ashamed _of_ ,” he said. “I’m not saying that we should deliberately provoke a story but I’m not prepared to hide this away if someone asks about it.”

“And when someone asks why you’re getting involved with one of the country’s biggest playboys?” asked Tony.

“I didn’t walk into this blind,” said Clint. “I know your reputation for changing bed-partners as regularly as other guys change their socks and I know that you bat for both teams. But I _also_ know that you’ve never cheated on someone – it was never _you_ who walked away from a relationship, though it would have been sensible on a few occasions. I know your bad habits but I also know how to pull you out of them, even if it’s just temporary. You’re cocky, you’re a flamboyant showman, you have an ego that needs its own damn _state_ , you can be a sneaky, secretive son-of-a-bitch……”

“Oh, you really don’t pull any punches,” Tony interrupted. Clint smiled gently and, kicking his roll of wrapping paper and the sticky tape off the bed, he twisted up to face Tony, cupping his face in order to keep his attention.

“You’re loyal,” he said. “You’re friendly, you’re brave, you’re protective. You will work yourself into a sleep and food deprived exhaustion in order to find that one solution that will ease a burden from everyone else’s shoulders. You repay the loyalty your people show you with equal fidelity. You made _sure_ you were the one who told Thom and Kit about Phil’s injury and you made sure you did it in person, not the phone call Hill or Fury would’ve made. You took on the US Air Force to protect a village that would remember nothing more than a red-and-gold robot. You flew a _nuclear bomb_ into space despite knowing it could be your last flight and I know you will make the same call again if needed. You invited the Avengers to live in your Tower just so that we could have a place we were able to call home and you have made sure we’re safe within its walls. You’ve made a valiant effort to play as part of the team, even if your own mind sometimes rebels against the idea.”

Clint shifted one of his hands and pressed it against the arc reactor. “You came out of hell in Afghanistan, not with blueprints of how to build the deadliest weapon known to man but with a vision to change the future. _That_ is the man I fell in love with, _that_ is the man I will defend with whatever weapon I need to and _that_ is the man I will proudly stand beside – in the Avengers, in the society pages, in front of Fury or the President – and no one will _ever_ make me feel ashamed.”

“Love?” Tony repeated, his mind having stalled at that point in Clint’s speech. Clint nodded, refusing to drop either his gaze or either of his hands. Tony choked out a shaky breath and grabbed the archer to him in a crushing embrace that quickly turned passionate as his mouth sought out Clint’s. Uncaring of the precariously balanced parcels that lined one side of Clint’s bed, the two men fell backwards in a messy tangle of limbs as hands and tongues were sent out exploring.

 

Natasha quietly pulled the bedroom door closed and quickly stole back towards the elevator.

“JARVIS make sure they are not disturbed,” she said as the doors closed behind her.

“Privacy protocols will engage the moment you leave the elevator,” JARVIS replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Let The Season Take Wing" written by Robert E. Irving & Kevin Quinn.


	15. In the meadow we can build a snowman

“You really mean it,” said Tony when Clint woke the following morning. The engineer sounded slightly stunned by something.

“That depends wha’ I said,” said Clint, groggily.

“That you love me,” said Tony. Clint stretched his back like a cat before smiling dazedly at Tony.

“Every word,” he said. “And I’ll say it as many times as I have to for you to accept it.”

“Then you’ll stop?” asked Tony. Clint chuckled and shook his head as he pushed himself up on to one elbow.

“No,” he said, brushing the backs of his fingers against Tony’s cheek. “Then you’ll trust that I mean what I’m saying.”

“I believe you now,” said Tony, his gaze dropping away from Clint’s.

“But……”

“Love and I don’t get along so well,” said Tony. Clint tipped Tony’s gaze back to meet his.

“I’m not asking to you to say it back,” he said. “All I’m asking is that you trust me when I say it. You care for me, I knew that before I heard your comments to Bruce Monday night, just give us a chance to see if things can develop beyond friendship and whatever you want to call last night.”

“And if it doesn’t go any further?” asked Tony.

“Then we had a good time,” said Clint. “I told you, Tony, I ain’t much of a catch for anyone ‘specially you. Parts of this still feel like a dream and, yeah, I like the idea of happily ever after but I ain’t got my hopes pinned on it.”

“You just like the idea of Natasha and Phil fighting over how they torture me,” grumbled Tony. Clint chuckled and wrapped his arms around Tony to pull him close, settling the engineer’s head on his shoulder.

“They’re my best friend and my partner,” he said. “Give ‘em a chance and they’ll fight with Pepper over the colour and design of the wedding favours.”

“Wedding favours?!”

* * *

“You know,” said Thom as he settled down on the bench beside Clint to watch Steve, Pepper and Tony engage Natasha, Phil and Kit in an all-out war, snowball being their preferred weapon on choice.

“When I said you were to be careful, I didn’t mean you had to sit on your hands.”

“ _I_ know that,” griped Clint. “But _Tony_ has decided that since he ignored you last night, he’s gonna make up for it now. Something about you and your Dad having a brutal aim with whatever you pick up.”

“So he goes _against_ him in a snowball fight?” asked Thom. “As well as Kit?”

“Uh-huh,” grinned Clint. “We’ve managed to convince him that since Kit is a tactical-sniper, it actually means that Kit has the sniper training but usually works behind the scenes like Phil.”

“And he bought that?” asked Thom in amusement.

“Named a few Ops that had Kit listed in that role,” said Clint with a grin. “And he ain’t got JARVIS here to double-check.”

“You are a sneaky bastard,” said Thom, returning the grin. “But I refuse to believe you’ve been sitting here idle all morning.”

“’Cause I haven’t,” said Clint, scooping up the mini StarkPad that had been resting on the bench beside him and pulling up a couple of itineraries. “Phil tells me you and Kit are going to go see Nana-Peggy tomorrow.”

“Is the plan,” said Thom.

“Think we could persuade her to come down to New York for Christmas?” asked Clint.

“You sure that’s a sensible idea?” asked Thom, looking across to the snow-battle where Steve had come under attack from all three of his opponents.

“He’s never gonna make the first move,” said Clint. “Nana-Peggy knows he was found, knows he’s awake, the whole damn world saw him fighting on the TV eight months ago, but he’s got it into his head that the people he left behind seventy years ago moved on and are better off without him.”

“You spoke to anyone else about this?” asked Thom. Clint shook his head.

“Wasn’t sure how to bring it into conversation,” said Clint. “Family ain’t exactly a strong point for any of us.”

“That would depend greatly on your definition of family,” said Thom. “Because the only thing Kit and I have managed to agree on is that you and Dad are going to be standing beside us when we get married.”

“Does Fury know that?” asked Clint with a chuckle.

“Soon as we agree on a date, we’ll let him know,” said Thom. “Now, I will speak to Kit about trying to persuade Nana-Peggy down to New York but for the moment, the idea of you sitting and making plans while Dad is over there actively waging war on his hero is freaking me out slightly. Want to build a snowman?”

“Hell yes!” exclaimed Clint, all but spring from the bench and pocketing his tablet. Thom chuckled and followed the archer at a slightly less boisterous pace.

* * *

“You really don’t like the traditional way of doing things do you?” Phil chuckled when the Avengers finally agreed that they were tired and aching from their snowball fight and gathered around the odd-looking creation Thom, Clint and few of the local children had spent the last hour creating.

“Traditional usually means boring,” said Clint, helping the youngest of their troupe put the finishing touched to the snowman. “And it was Thom’s idea.”

“What?” Thom asked when the Avengers turned bemused expressions to him. “The kids wanted to give it eyes and buttons but wanted to do it themselves.”

“The idea of building it in separate parts just didn’t occur to you did it?” said Phil, continuing to laugh.

“’Course it did,” said Thom. “But this way is much cooler. _And_ it’ll get looked at more often than a regular snowman. Now, Clint, that tablet got a camera feature?”

“Uh-huh,” grinned Clint, pulling the thing out from his pocket and tossing it to the closest Avenger before dropping into a crouch and pulling the nearest child to him, Thom dropping down on the snowman’s other side and pulling another of the children close.

“Say cheese,” Clint called as a few of the older children gathered around the snowman, peering round it as they would a doorjamb when they were trying to be sneaky.

“Cheese!” cheered the group and Natasha snapped a quick couple shots while Pepper dug out a few of her ever-present StarkIndustries business cards and helped herself to Tony’s wallet (and the fifty-dollar bills he had shoved in there) She passed the lot to Kit who crouched before the group and, after making sure each of them had pockets and obtaining a promise that they would not shout about the money (or who had given it to them) to anyone until they got home, distributed the loot with a grin that was very suited to a gift-giving elf.

Money and business cards secreted away, the children shot off in various directions – some headed for home, others for their family that were still hanging around while others headed for open space where their wintery games could continue. Tony and Kit hauled their respective partners back to their feet, Clint reclaiming his tablet from Natasha to look at the photographs.

“Think Agent’ll want a copy for his office?” asked Tony, peering over Clint’s shoulder. Clint chuckled and shook his head.

“Doesn’t fit with the bad-ass image he likes to cultivate,” he said, swiping the tablet into standby mode and shoving it back into his pocket. “I want a copy though.”

“JARVIS can print it soon as we get back to the Tower,” said Tony.

_And I’m putting a copy in the lab,_ he thought, already debating which piece of artwork he would get away with removing from his workshop wall without Pepper ranting about the effort that went into hunting it down in the first place.

It didn’t really matter though. Clint’s genuine smile was worth more than his entire collection and the chance to see it daily was worth any rant Pepper cared to come up with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Winter Wonderland" written by Richard B. Smith (lyrics) and Felix Bernard (music)


	16. Here's to you, Raise your glass for everyone

It seemed to be an unwritten rule – Christmas was the time when every charity you could think of was out, cap-in-hand looking for donations. Whether it was the charity collectors in the street or the depressing/heart-wrenching adverts on TV and billboards or the charity telethons, it seemed the only way to avoid them was to hole-up in a civilisation forsaken location from Thanksgiving to New Year. As much as they would have liked the sound of idea, none of the Avengers could stomach the thought of actually disappearing from New York for the remainder of the festive period. Instead, Saturday evening found them getting ready for a dinner-and-dance affair in aide of the _Robin Hood Foundation_.

The men were fairly simple to dress – Steve and Phil would be wearing their Army uniforms, Thor would wear the formal court regalia of Asgard (minus the cape at Phil’s persuasion) while Bruce, Tony, Clint and Happy would be dressed in tuxedos, Natasha helping her partner apply some concealer to his still healing bruises. However, Natasha, Pepper and Jane (who had arrived on Friday evening, much to Thor’s obvious delight) had made far more of production out of the pre-ball preparations than their male companions deemed strictly necessary. Naturally, Pepper and Natasha had had their costumes selected, altered and delivered weeks beforehand but they had pounced on Jane’s unexpected arrival and subsequent lack of suitable attire as an excuse to once more escape into the upper end of New York’s shopping district armed with determination and one of Tony’s credit card. Clint and Phil could only stare in bemusement as their usually calm, collected and _very_ unfeminine comrade enthusiastically joined in conversations with Pepper and Jane about fashion styles and the practicality of some of the more outlandish dresses that had appeared during their pre-shop, online searches.

The result was astonishing, however, and rather than his usual teasing whenever he saw Natasha dressed in anything other than her SHIELD jumpsuit or dress-down jeans and t-shirt, the only thing that would come to Clint’s mind when the trio stepped into the communal lounge was “Wow!” a sentiment he sensed the other men agreeing with.

Jane – the definite tomboy of the trio – looked like an eastern princess, opting for a colourful Salwar Kameez ensemble of gold-spotted red silk loose-fitting trousers and a royal-blue shirt which had an intricate bead and thread decoration sewn into the hunter-green finish of its sleeves while an equally elaborate brocade decorated the top six-inches and neckline of the shirt. The ensemble was completed by a simple red silk scarf that Jane currently had wrapped loosely around her shoulders. Her dark hair – that was lucky to see a brush some days – had been left down to tumble across her shoulders in a wave of loose curls, accented purely by a trail of gold that for the life of him, Clint couldn’t work out how was staying put.

As should probably have been expected, Pepper carried the whole thing off with a casual elegance that implied she dressed up to the nines on a daily basis. The A-line cut, floor-length, Taffeta and Satin dress she wore was a light silver with a delicate embellishment of mother-of-pearl beads across the bodice and while the dress itself was held up with spaghetti-straps, it was accompanied by sleeved shawl that tastefully rounded off the affair into a mature image. Her auburn hair had been pulled up and away from her face into a sweeping fishtail braid that fell over her right shoulder.

Natasha stole the show as far as Clint was concerned (and yes he knew he was biased), dressed in an A-line cut, floor-length, Chiffon dress. Magnolia with a bronze brocade around the waist, it was cut off at one shoulder with a tasteful accent of mother-of-pearl beads winding its way along the bodice hem that crossed her chest before forming the strap that disappeared over her left shoulder. Her hair – which had had its brilliant red muted slightly by a brown dye – had been teased back into a ponytail, small French-braids wrapping around from her parting to catch the smaller lengths of hair.

“So we finally getting to meet whoever it is that’s caught your attention, Tasha?” Clint asked with a grin. Natasha preened before slipping her arm into Bruce’s, the scientist flushing slightly. Clint blinked a couple of times before his smile tempered into something gentler and he nodded once. Bruce looked slightly puzzled by the silent exchange but Natasha’s preening stopped and she smiled back at Clint.

“Nope, seeing Black Widow smile never does get easier,” said Tony with a theatrical shudder as he wrapped his own arm around Clint’s waist. Clint twisted his neck to smirk at his lover.

“If the Black Widow smiles at you like that, you better hope your affairs are in order,” he said. “If _Natasha_ smiles at you like that, you are one lucky son-of-a-bitch.”

“I’m going to be spending the entire night making sure my various body parts are still attached!” protested Tony.

“You are confident that it is tonight I remove them,” said Natasha, her smile sliding back into a slight smirk. Tony cuffed the back of Clint’s head when the archer laughed and Steve pointedly cleared his throat.

“We should be making a move,” he said. “New York traffic has only _worsened_ in my time asleep.”

“Shotgun!” Clint immediately declared. Tony looked at him in mild horror.

“It is a _limo_ ,” he said, sounding as appalled as he looked. “There isn’t a shotgun position.”

 “And that would be entirely beside the point, Tony,” chuckled Phil, tucking his cap under one arm and holding the other out to Pepper.

“Shall we?”

* * *

As much as the Avengers hated the large dining affairs such as the charity ball they were currently attending – guests paid a fee per dinner place as well as making various other donations throughout the evening – the _Robin Hood Foundation_ was a charity in which they had all found something to appeal directly to them and were more than happy to attend and to mingle with their fellow contributors.

Jane rarely left Thor’s side, partly because she was nervous in such a large, formal crowd (something Thor had picked up on) and partly because Thor wished to show off his beautiful Lady to his fellow diners. The Asgardian’s genuine belief that he was incredibly lucky to have attracted Jane’s attention in the first place, let alone be allowed to keep it, seemed to go down well with his female company and Jane had adopted an apparently permanent flush to her cheeks. Tony and Steve were doing their, by now, standard routine of meeting and greeting everyone in the room, moving to alternate circles around the room, meeting somewhere in the middle for a few words before continuing on their way. Bruce and Natasha kept to the smaller, quieter groups, neither of the couple doing well with large gatherings, but they had yet to want for company beyond their own while Pepper and Happy alternated between taking their own turn of the room and sitting quietly together, content with each other’s company. Phil had attracted his own circle of admires thanks, in part, to his Ranger uniform that still allowed him to cut an impressive figure. Clint himself dotted between each of the Avengers, doing his best to hide from the various members of the press who were present.

He was halfway between Phil’s table, where he had left his handler to politely decline yet _another_ personal invitation from one of his admires, and the one where Pepper and Happy had stopped, apparently for Happy to introduce an elderly couple to Pepper before the chauffeur disappeared towards the drinks table, when he spotted a brunette making a beeline for them, her barely-appropriate evening dress unable to hide the concealed Dictaphone from Clint’s sharp eyesight. Clint looked back to Phil’s table and was lucky enough to find his handler looking straight at him. Clint jerked his head in Pepper’s direction before turning and making to intercept the brunette himself.

Unfortunately, he didn’t make it in time and before he could distract Pepper’s attention, the brunette had made herself at home in one of the seats next to Pepper and had introduced herself as “Jessica Carpenter, _Vanity Fair Magazine,_ ” holding out what she thought to be a polite hand to the other woman. The look on Pepper’s face was one of polite displeasure, far to used to this kind of conversation from when she and Tony had lived in Los Angeles, while the elderly couple she had been speaking to looked outright annoyed that their conversation had been interrupted and then hijacked by the reporter.

“……stmas compare with Malibu?” asked Ms Carpenter as Clint slid into a seat at the adjacent table, turned at a 45o angle to the conversation. “Missing the sun?”

“It’s different,” said Pepper. “And the weather is nothing a jacket and pair of boots can’t overcome.”

“Very true,” said Ms Carpenter. “So perhaps you could explain why there are photographs circulating that show you and Ms Rushman on numerous shopping outings to clothing stores where you never leave empty handed? That seems like more than ‘a jacket and a pair of boots’.”

“I am a business woman, Ms Carpenter,” said Pepper. “StarkIndustries does not stop operating because of the wintry weather and therefore I need to remain professionally, but suitably, dressed. Both Mr Stark and Ms Rushman have the same demands.”

“And tonight?” pressed Ms Carpenter. “You both appear at a charity function in dresses that cost enough to feed a family for a month and I do not want to even _attempt_ at putting a price on the Tuxedo Mr Stark is wearing. How do you justify such expenditure considering what this event is meant to achieve?”

“Far better than you can justify your own expenditure,” said Pepper, sweeping her gaze over the mid-thigh, one-shoulder, white-and-silver affair that Ms Carpenter was wearing.

“Oh?” queried Ms Carpenter.

“I am StarkIndustries CEO, Ms Carpenter,” said Pepper. “This is not the first, nor shall it be the last, time I will be invited to events similar to tonight. And if _I_ do not require its use, I’m sure Ms Rushman will borrow it should she have the need. As for Mr Stark – you will have to ask him about his own clothing expenditure, I don’t recognise what he’s wearing.”

“And here I was led to believe you and Stark were more than Owner and CEO,” said Ms Carpenter as Phil slipped into the seat beside Clint and deliberately locked their chair-legs together. “There has certainly been plenty of photographic evidence over the years.”

“Mr Stark and I _are_ more than Owner and CEO,” said Pepper. “However, the ‘evidence’ you speak of became invalid well over eighteen months ago.”

“You are contradicting yourself there, Ms Potts,” said Ms Carpenter as Happy reappeared and set down a tray of four drinks, looking mildly disconcerted that there was now a fifth person at their table. Pepper merely smiled at him and helped herself to her white-wine spritzer and encouraging the man to sit down.

“I’m not,” Pepper said to Ms Carpenter and Clint’s hands flexed between flat and fists as he prepared himself for a diatribe of derogatory comments as he watched Pepper deliberately gather Happy’s hand in her own. He wasn’t entirely sure the elderly couple that was sharing their table knew exactly what was going on but he did notice the lady’s smile of pleasure as she took a sip of her own spritzer and took hold of her own husband’s hand.

“The chauffeur?” Ms Carpenter asked in obvious disdain.

“Bodyguard and personal trainer,” added Pepper and Clint smiled at the amount of pride she managed to inject into the four words.

“You gave up a life with one of the world’s richest men so you could be with one of the _help_?” asked Ms Carpenter, incredulous.

“If you _hadn’t_ noticed,” said Pepper, starting to become visibly riled by the conversation. “ _I_ am one of the ‘help’ and I am still in charge of StarkIndustries. Mr Stark is still a large part of our daily lives.”

“And how do you think he feels?” asked Ms Carpenter. “Being forced to watch as his former lover is wined-and-dined by his driver?”

“So far, he’s _personally_ booked us a table at the Carlyle Hotel Restaurant for my birthday in September,” said Pepper. “And paid for a long-weekend retreat at the Hotel Plaza Athénée for apparently no other reason than he felt like it.”

“Sounds like an endorsement to me,” chimed in the elderly lady. Clint chuckled lightly while Pepper gave her a warm smile. Ms Carpenter feigned a similar expression, clearly unimpressed by the interruption.

“But does he truly approve or is he resorting to his usual behaviour of throwing money at a situation and hoping it will turn out in his favour?” asked Ms Carpenter. “How long, do you think, it will take before we read about your sudden fall from the top of the StarkIndustries career ladder? How long will it be before his next semi-serious fling is promoted so high?”

“Ms Carpenter,” interrupted Tony from behind the reporter. Ms Carpenter swung around in her seat to gift Tony with a blinding smile.

“Yeah, no,” he said, turning her back around so that she was able to properly see Clint. “See that gorgeous young man sitting behind Ms Potts?”

“Yes?” said Ms Carpenter and Clint was glad to hear that she sounded a little unsure of herself now that she was no longer in charge of the questioning.

“That would be Ms Potts’ adoptive brother,” Tony said. “He is known for his protective tendencies towards his family and he has just heard – and will remember – every single word of your conversation. See the Army-Ranger beside him? He is the only reason he’s currently holding back and allowing me to talk you out the corner you’ve stupidly backed yourself into.”

“The public have a right to know if one the country’s largest employers is about to change hands,” argued Ms Carpenter.

“And _if_ that happens,” said Tony, coolly. “The announcement will come through the business channels at _StarkIndustries_ discretion not prematurely from a _Vanity Fair_ reporter who is supposed to be reporting on this _event_ not intimate details of its guests. Good evening.”

“Tony, wait,” said Clint, standing up and crossing to his lover’s side, wrapping an arm around the other man’s waist. “I’m sure we can provide her with some gossip.”

“We can?” asked Tony, glancing at his lover. Clint nodded before using his hold on Tony’s waist to turn him enough to catch his lips in a gentle, but possessive kiss. Tony looked completely besotted by the time they broke apart and Clint chuckled lightly before tucking the engineer’s head into his shoulder and turning a fierce glare to Ms Carpenter, who looked somewhere between shocked, horrified and highly dismayed.

“Piss off,” the archer instructed, his embrace as possessive as his kiss.

Ms Carpenter couldn’t scramble away fast enough, Phil quickly on her heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Do they know it's Christmas time" written by Bob Geldof and Midge Ure
> 
> [Pepper's dress](http://www.dressol.co.uk/elegant-evening-dresses-floor-length-taffeta-satin-a-line-straps-rle0918.html)   
> [Natasha's dress](http://www.dressol.co.uk/asymmetric-design-long-evening-dresses-sheath-one-shoulder-sod39063.html#)   
> [Jane's Salwar Kameez](http://www.indianfashiontrend.com/Deep-Blue-Red-Art-Silk-Embroidered-Salwar-Kameez-p-3236.html#page=description)   
> [Ms Carpenter's dress](http://www.dressol.co.uk/elegant-one-shoulder-white-evening-dresses-edu80921.html#)


	17. Thou bidst us true and faithful be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kit & Clint start talking in Irish at the end of this chapter. It's only be run through Google Translator so is bound to be wrong. If you know the correction, please let me know and I'll correct it.  
> Translations are given in the end notes.

 “Someone better have a damn good explanation for this,” declared Hill, dropping the morning editions of _The New York Times, The New York Post_ and _Newsday_ on the breakfast table. The front page of each paper showed a snapshot of Clint and Tony sitting beside each other apparently sharing an appetizer while they had light-hearted discussion about something. There was nothing particularly newsworthy or scandalous about the photograph: it formed the central panel of a ten-image fundraiser highlights collage for the _Newsday_ front page; _The Post_ splashed another half-dozen images across the same page, each one a shot of a predominant businessperson and their dinner guest; while the _Times_ used the image to once more blow Tony’s philanthropy trumpet. Hill, however, was apparently not reading the same news as everyone else.

“Ah, JARVIS?” said Tony, looking up from his coffee to scowl at the Assistant Director. “Thought we’d fixed that security issue?”

“Yes, Sir,” said JARVIS. “However, Agent Hill entered through the rooftop entrance.”

“And whatever transport you used is now blocking a medical emergency exit,” said Tony, looking to Hill in disgust. “JARVIS, encourage them to leave?”

“With pleasure, Sir,” said JARVIS and Tony swore his AI was smirking.

“Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done?” demanded Hill, dragging Tony’s attention back the situation at hand.

“Ah, helped the _Robin Hood Foundation_ meet their fundraising target?” said Tony, grabbing the nearest paper and scanning the story. “Helped increase sales of three local news publications? Actually taking a decent enough picture that I didn’t end up as the headline? Good thing Ms Romanoff let Clint use some of her concealer, they didn’t catch his good side.”

“Agent Barton,” growled Hill. “Is one of SHIELD’s best undercover Agents. How is he supposed to do his job if his photograph is splashed across at least three city’s newspapers?”

“Same way he’s been doing it for the last six years?” asked Tony, tossing the paper back onto the table and snagging up a slice of toast. “This wouldn’t be the first time he’s appeared in the press beside me.”

“Those occasions didn’t denote him as anything more than an acquaintance,” said Hill. “Something that can easily be passed off or used to our benefit. _This_ is a lot more complicated to explain.”

“Clint is not some tool for you to use and discard as you please!” snapped Tony.

“Pull me out of undercover,” said Clint as he appeared in the kitchen and handing Tony a tablet before heading for the coffee machine and his cereal box. “Because that’s platonic.”

“Excuse me?” Hill demanded while Tony choked on his mouthful of toast.

“ _Vanity Fair_ journalist went after Pepper,” said Clint, resting against the bunker with his bowl of cereal. “Decided that kissing Tony would be a better response than decking her and someone got a lucky shot. It’s getting a lot of attention on the social network sites.”

“You mean that’s real?” asked Jane as she and Thor appeared in the kitchen, a smartphone gripped in her hand. She flushed slightly when the trio turned their attention to her. “Sorry, Darcy sent me a link.”

“Course she did,” chuckled Clint. “Yes, it’s real. Want an encore?”

“No!” snapped Hill even as the furiously blushing Jane squeaked out “encore?”

“Why should Hawkeye and the Man of Iron not be allowed to express their affections for each other in public?” Thor asked. “They have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Because Hawkeye’s job requires that the public not be able to recognise him!” snapped Hill even as Clint and Tony smiled at the Prince.

“Is my name attached to anything?” asked Clint, looking to Tony.

“Nope,” said Tony. “ _Post_ is speculating as to who you actually are, _Times_ has made a comment that you were my guest while _Newsday_ doesn’t seem to care.”

“So all the public actually has is a picture of us sharing a meal at the fundraiser last night – to which I was invited separately along with five dozen other people – and a lucky shot of when I kissed you,” said Clint, setting his empty cereal bowl in the sink and moving to stand behind Tony.

“Seems like,” said Tony.

“Then I’m sure SHIELD or your PR team can come up with an explanation,” said Clint, resting a hand on the curve of Tony’s neck. Tony tipped his head back into the touch and Clint smiled at him when he caught the nervous flicker in Tony’s expression.

“I’m not running,” said Clint. “Avengers, Press, SHIELD and the President, remember?”

“I remember,” said Tony. “I’ll have Pepper come up with something.”

“Boss can help with the wording,” said Clint with a nod. “For now, I gotta go or Cap and I are gonna be late.”

“Sit your ass down, Barton,” snapped Hill. Clint shot the Assistant Director a particularly foul look.

“Third Sunday, Ma’am,” he said. With that he deliberately dropped a light kiss to Tony’s lips (Jane was going to end up with a permanent red stain across her cheeks) before double checking his pockets for his keys and leaving the apartment.

* * *

The Sunday editions of the papers had concentrated their editorials on reporting the success of the _Robin Hood Foundation_ charity fundraiser and no one had seen the reason to create a media storm on the fact Tony Stark had been photographed sharing dinner with another guest. Even the _Post_ ’s speculation was restricted to questioning who Clint was in more of a business sense than anything more sensational. Phil and Pepper drafted a statement to explain who exactly Clint was in relation to Tony (close friend from California who was spending Christmas in New York) but no one was asked for a comment. Instead the Avengers watched the social network pages with interest as the general public speculated on the validity of the more salacious image of Tony and Clint’s kiss, Tony grinning like an imp when it appeared Jane really was going to end up with permanently flushed cheeks and Bruce was attempting to emulate her cherry-stained look.

Monday morning brought a different story – someone had found the image circulating on the social networking sites and run it as the page-6 spread. After over three years of absence, ‘billionaire playboy Tony Stark’ was suddenly back in the limelight and Clint had been dragged there with him.

Both men found cause to panic.

Tony retreated to his labs with Bruce and tried to reassure himself and his fellow scientist that he was fine, all the while frantically trying to work out how to keep Clint with him but subconsciously preparing for the moment Clint told him they were done. Clint knew he couldn’t compete with Tony’s pathological need to destroy and build when emotionally distraught and so ran for his partner and his handler, ready to beg for their help, blind to everything except the knowledge that he was hours away from having his lover and his family ripped away from him.

He found them sparring in the gym on Level 69, Steve and Happy off to one side supervising a training exercise with one of StarkIndustries security teams.

“Boss?” he asked somewhat nervously from where he hovered at the side of the mat. “Ryzhiy?”

Natasha looked round startled at Clint’s use of a long abandoned nickname and was resultantly flipped and pinned by Phil, who looked at the archer in concern.

“Clint?” he asked, quickly releasing Natasha and both Agents scrambling to their teammate’s side when they noticed his uncharacteristic fidgeting.

“Clint, what’s wrong?” Phil asked, resting one hand on Clint’s shoulder and cupping his cheek with the other in order to keep the younger man’s attention.

“I’m done,” Clint said, holding up his mini StarkPad to show the front-page headline from that morning’s _New York Post_.

“Thought the consensus on this was that it is a manipulation,” said Natasha, taking a tablet and quickly skimming the headline, caption and story. Clint shook his head, a rare but absolutely genuine flare of fear dancing in his eyes.

“Hill knows it’s real,” he said. “They’re gonna burn me.”

“Excuse me?” demanded Phil as Natasha hissed like a scalded cat.

“First thing Hill said when she demanded answers from Tony yesterday,” said Clint. “I can’t be sent undercover if my face is splashed across the front page. We got lucky yesterday but there’s no way this is gonna go away so easily.”

“Clint, they can’t burn you,” said Phil. Clint shook his head again.

“There’re plenty of other snipers who understand not to get into the headlines,” he said. “If I can’t go undercover, I’ve got nothing else to offer and SHIELD doesn’t keep worthless assets.”

“Other snipers do not have your success rate,” hissed Natasha, her words meant as reassurance for Clint but her _tone_ meant as a warning for Phil. “Other snipers do not think outside of their orders. Other snipers do not have the loyalty of half of SHIELD’s security teams. Other snipers did not fight Loki or Chitauri and _win_.”

“Other snipers didn’t get compromised and half destroy the Helicarrier,” said Clint, his arms crossing about his chest in a faux embrace.

“Because they weren’t suitable for guarding the Tesseract,” said Phil. “It was more than your skill with a gun or a bow that had me recommend you for Pegasus, I told you that at the time.”

“They warned me,” said Clint, one hand starting to scrub at the bicep it was holding in agitation. “When Steve and Tony argued to have me on the Avengers. They warned me that I was only gonna get one more chance. If I screwed up, they’d burn me.”

“No!” said Phil sharply, startling Clint out of some of his stupor. “Clint, I need you to listen to me. There are only two people who can disavow you – me and Director Fury.”

“Agent Hill……”

“Is only _Assistant_ Director,” said Phil. “And does not work with the Avengers on anything like a regular basis – she can make a recommendation but can’t give the actual order regardless of her pay-grade. Even Sitwell can’t disavow you and he is officially responsible for the Avengers.”

“How?” asked Clint.

“Because I am still _your_ handler – you refused to sign the transfer papers remember?” said Phil with a gentle smile. “I have spent the last fifteen years fighting your corner and I am not about to turn my back on you because of a photograph that was taken, and published, without your knowledge or consent.”

“And Fury?” asked Clint.

“Needs a hell of a lot more than a couple of questionable photographs to disavow one of his highly-prized assets,” said Phil.

“Ryzhiy?” said Clint, looking at Natasha. “My three good things?”

“Oh, orlenok,” soothed Natasha, taking Clint into her arms. “Is trouble that comes in threes – is no limit on the blessings.”

* * *

“Séig?” asked Kit as he settled himself at Clint’s kitchen counter that evening. “Why do I have AD Hill demanding that I carry out the secondary part of my orders regarding the Avengers?”

“My relationship with Tony became public a lot quicker than either of us planned,” said Clint, not looking up from the butter-frosting Christmas tree he was piping on to a chocolate-chip muffin.

“Which has led Hill to the conclusion that you’re compromised to the point you are now a threat to SHIELD and/or international security?” asked Kit. “Exactly how did you two come out to the public?!”

“You mean you _haven’t_ seen the pictures?” asked Clint, looking up in faint amusement. Kit chuckled as he made up a parchment-sheet piping-bag.

“Oh, I’ve seen them,” he said. “Nana-Peggy is asking if we could get her a copy of the one from yesterday’s _Times_ while Thom’s convinced the one doing the rounds on the ’net is a fake.”

“I wish,” said Clint, going back to his decorating. “Reporter was taking pot-shots at Pepper.”

“So you helped Tony create a different type of scandal,” surmised Kit as he pulled the plate of tree bedecked muffins to him and started to sporadically add dots of white icing.

“I’d do the same for any of you,” said Clint. Kit chuckled.

“Memory serves, you _did_ do that for me,” he said. “How long did the Director have you on probation afterwards?”

“Fifteen months,” said Clint with a shrug. “Didn’t feel guilty about it at the time, neither of you are gonna get me to start now. How long’s Hill given you to carry out and report?”

“Forty-eight hours,” said Kit. “Chief’s gonna help me write a report that says ‘screw you’ diplomatically tomorrow.”

“Kit that could cost you everything!” protested Clint.

“ _All_ of which I owe to you,” said Kit, moving on to a fresh cake and adding an icing spot for each of his points. “Séig, I’m covered. One – I’m on vacation, they could order me to McMurdo and I’m within my right to refuse. Two – my CO is Miguel Hernandez not Maria Hill. Three – I spoke to Sitwell who, after becoming thoroughly confused, directed me to the Chief who gave the order to stand-down.”

“The _second_ that plan even looks like its heading south, you carry out your orders,” instructed Clint.

“Séig……” started Kit but Clint cut across him.

“The _second_ ,” he emphasised. “I’ve had a good run, Kit. Don’t destroy your own career in an attempt save what’s left of mine.”

“Is é seo do bhaile! Do theaghlach!” Kit said defiantly. At the switch to Irish – something an emotionally overwrought Kit had done since he was a child – Clint dropped his bag of icing to round the counter. He relieved Kit of his own piping-bag and turned the younger sniper to face him.

“Ní féidir liom plean ar a thabhairt ar aon cheann de tú suas,” Clint said raising his hands to cup both sides of Kit’s jaw and pressing their foreheads together. “Ach is é seo _mo_ cath a throid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Irish translation**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Is é seo do bhaile! Do theaghlach!** – This is your home! Your family!  
>  **Ní féidir liom plean ar a thabhairt ar aon cheann de tú suas** \- I don't plan on giving any of you up  
>  **Ach is é seo mo cath a throid** –But this is my battle to fight  
>  **Séig** – hawk
> 
>    
>  _Russian translation_
> 
> _Ryzhiy_ – red  
>  _Orlenok_ – eaglet  
>   
> 
> Title is from "O Tannenbaum", translated from the original German written by Ernst Anschütz (translation author unknown)


	18. With all my friends and family

It took the combined forces of Bruce, JARVIS, DUMMY and a half-dozen housebots to forcibly eject Tony from his lab on Tuesday morning. Bruce all but dragged the man to his bedroom and stopped just short of throwing him, fully-clothed, into the shower. He made a point of standing outside the bathroom so he could hear if Tony actually moved around – with the fugue state Tony was working himself into, Bruce wouldn’t put it past the man just to stand staring at the wall. After fifteen minutes, he ordered JARVIS to turn the shower water icy-cold and while AI declared that such treatment was bordering on the inhumane, he nevertheless complied and Tony’s yell of mingled outrage and shock was quickly followed by the sounds of his scrambling out of the shower.

“Miss Spider has been teaching you bad tricks,” griped Tony as he stalked back into the room, dressed solely in a towel. Bruce chuckled and shook his head.

“We had this weird plumbing system when I was a kid,” he said. “Flush the downstairs toilet and the shower would run icy then scalding. Mom perfected the trick. Get dressed.”

“Ah, a little privacy?” asked Tony. Bruce only made himself more comfortable on the edge of the bed.

“I wake up buck-ass nude every time the Other Guy gets tired,” he said. “Nudity isn’t something I’m squeamish about.”

“Yet you go bright red every time someone starts on the topic of sex,” said Tony, raking around for underwear and jeans.

“As in the action,” said Bruce. “But so does everyone else when you get started.”

“Not true,” declared Tony from where he was all but hiding in his closet in order to switch his towel for his underwear. Bruce chuckled.

“Tasha is picturing all the ways she knows how to kill you without leaving evidence,” he said with confidence. “Phil probably has his own horror stories.”

“Probably,” agreed Tony. “But can’t say I blame the boys.”

“Do I want to know what you mean by that?” asked Bruce, rubbing his forehead as Tony emerged to hunt out a t-shirt.

“They’re young, in love and fully confident that they can take whatever the world throws at them,” said Tony, his grin turning slightly lecherous. “And when you’ve got the young sexy partner they have……”

“Alright, I get the point!” Bruce exclaimed, chucking a pen at his friend’s head even as he felt his cheeks flushing again. Tony caught it and tossed it back with a continuing grin.

“And that makes my point quite nicely,” he said, pulling the t-shirt over his head. “What’s the big emergency that you stole reinforcements to get me out the lab?”

“Phil is running damage control after yesterday,” said Bruce. “He wants to make sure everyone knows what’s going on.”

“I _know_ what’s going on,” said Tony waspishly, his grin disappearing. “I don’t need _Agent_ to tell me, _or_ announce to the rest of the Avengers, that probably the most promising relationship I’ve ever had is now sunk or blown-up or whatever metaphor we’re currently using for _dead and over_. I’m going back to the lab.”

“Tony!” snapped Bruce. “Clint is terrified and he is so close to running that Tasha and Kit have to _physically_ pin him here.”

“So you’re going to wind him up further?” asked Tony. “Excuse me for not wanting to be part of that.”

Bruce growled low in his throat and stalked over to Tony, all but throwing the startled engineer into the wall where he crowded him into staying put.

“He needs you, Tony,” he said. “Even if all you do is sit and hold his hand. You said you were pissed that it took a couple of nail-bombs to realise how vulnerable he is physically – what is it gonna take for you to realise that he is just as emotionally vulnerable? Right now he needs _you_ more than he needs the armour you’ve been working on for the last week and a half.”

“I can’t,” said Tony, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I can’t watch as someone tears him away. We’ve danced that tune too many times already, I can’t do it again.”

“So instead you’ll let SHIELD destroy him,” said Bruce, not backing off. Tony visibly paled.

“What?” he rasped out.

“He insists no one can put a price on protecting family,” said Bruce. “So, in exchange for protecting Pepper from the media, _you_ get to keep the fancy toys, your spot with the Avengers, your apartment……”

“It’s my Tower!”

“Your friends,” Bruce said sharply, derailing whatever further interruption Tony was planning. “If the SHIELD Directorate gets their way, Clint will be forced to give up _everything_ – his job, his identity, his home, his family. I know what that’s like, Tony, and there is no way in _hell_ I am going to stand by and let some quasi-military organisation ruin another life for no other reason than he did the right thing.”

“They can’t do that,” protested Tony.

“We’re talking about people who okayed a nuclear strike on the Island of Manhattan,” said Bruce. “I don’t think they care much about employment law.”

“Then we’ll hit them where it hurts,” said Tony, defiantly. “JARVIS suspend all SHIELD requested R&D projects. Recall all SHIELD-bound shipments we have due _except_ the one of body-armour and radios for the security personnel and cut off all data-transfers.”

“Sir, that would result in StarkIndustries losing several million dollars,” JARVIS advised.

“We’ll find a way to absorb it,” said Tony. “I can do it manually if you’d prefer.”

“I am aware, Sir,” said JARVIS. “Links to SHIELD mainframes have been disconnected, R&D projects are suspended and product shipments are being recalled.”

“Tony what……” started Bruce, obviously surprised by Tony’s response to his outburst.

“Too many people rely on me and my company for me to make the same sacrifice as Clint,” said Tony. “But I’ll give him what I can.”

“War Room,” said Bruce, moving back a couple of steps and pointing the direction of the elevator.

* * *

Despite his reassurances to Kit and his promise to Tony, Clint had managed to convince himself that Phil wouldn’t be able to protect him for long – he’d been doing it for fifteen years, there was only so long the man could keep currying favour with Fury. As such, by the time Tony and Bruce arrived in the War Room on Level 91, Clint was so close to simply bolting that Natasha sat holding his hands in such a way that making an escape would be painful while Kit sat with his back pressed to Clint’s shins and resting his head against Clint’s knee. The somewhat juvenile position made him appear nonchalant about the whole thing until you paid close attention to the ready-alert expression in his eyes.

Not caring about who he was about to upset, or their audience, Tony chivvied Kit out the way and slid his arms around Clint, glaring at Natasha until she released the archer’s hand. He then twisted them around so he could seek his mouth in a kiss that was both desperate and possessive. Clint returned the kiss as best he could, Tony’s desperation and his own panic not really allowing for any finesse or real coordination.

“Ehrm, what’s going on?” asked Pepper as Tony eased back from Clint and gentle settled the man into his side, encouraging him to rest his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Phil told us about the consequences of yesterday’s page-6 spread,” said Bruce. Tony tightened his hold on Clint to keep him in place.

“Consequences?” repeated Pepper. “I’ve yet to be asked for a statement on the subject.”

“Forgive me Pepper,” said Phil. “Due to the sensitive nature of the issue, I took the liberty of providing a statement to the press.”

“Saying what exactly?” Pepper asked, a lot more calmly than Tony felt the question should have been delivered – Clint was _shaking_ in his arms.

“AD wants his head,” Kit said viciously, Thom gripping his fiancé’s hand tightly. “For no other reason than one of her best undercover operatives has fallen in love and isn’t scared to let the rest of the world know.”

“Phil?” Pepper prompted, looking slightly ill.

“I told the press that Clint was an old friend of Tony’s and that the kiss was a greeting,” said Phil.

“Old friend from where?” asked Steve, slightly bemused by the concept.

“California,” said Phil. “We can’t really say anything else – there’s photographs of them together before this. However, I took care to mention that he’s been touring the Mediterranean area of Europe for the eighteen months or so and has picked up a few habits.”

“And that’s really gonna fly?” asked Steve.

“He has spent seven of the last eighteen months in Europe,” said Phil.

“And he can speak Italian and Spanish fluidly,” said Natasha.

“Fluently,” corrected Bruce. Natasha shook her head, as did Phil and Clint.

“I get bits mixed up,” Clint said. “Not enough that non-speakers realise but the locals notice.”

“Do _not_ remind me,” said Phil to which Clint gave a choked laugh while Natasha grinned.

“Yeah, we’re getting that story later,” noted Kit, a little irritated that they’d gotten side-tracked. “How do we keep him where he belongs?”

“Wait, I’m still missing something,” said Pepper, looking pointedly at Clint and Tony.

“Hill wants me burnt,” said Clint. “Means I lose literally everything I have.”

“Like hell you will,” declared Steve, the aggression in his voice a far-cry from the charming blue-eyed boy routine that was his public persona. Clint flinches back, misunderstanding what Steve actually meant and Tony, Natasha and Kit each look ready to retaliate on their archer’s behalf. Phil interjects before any of them can actually formulate their response.

“I have already explained that he cannot be burnt by anyone expect myself or Director Fury,” he said. “In this, however, he needs more reassurance that just my word.”

“Then he can have mine,” said Steve, moving to crouch before Clint and encouraging the younger man to look at him. “Clint, I met you just after you’d been forced to walk through hell to Loki’s fife and you didn’t even blink when I told you to suit up so you could march to mine instead. I know what it means to be a soldier and to respond to orders but that’s not what I saw from you that day, nor is it what I’ve seen from you every day since. Director Fury _and_ the Security Council gave me leave to form the team as I saw fit and I have yet to regret any of the decisions I made that day, even when you scare years off my life with your daredevil stunts.”

Clint looked completely lost and confused as he tried to get his tongue to cooperate with his brain so he could speak. Steve smiled gently as he gripped his knee.

“The Avengers is _my_ team,” he said. “I get to say who marches with us and you honestly think I’m gonna let politicians and bureaucrats tell me who I can have protecting my back? I didn’t do that in 1941, why would I do it now?”

“There are others,” said Tony, unwittingly repeating Clint’s argument from the previous morning and Steve scrambled to catch the archer’s retreat before it developed too far.

“The only other sniper I would even consider having on the team is Kit,” said Steve, nodding to the youth that had yet to move more than four feet away from Clint, despite his fiancé being present. Kit looked startled by the commendation while both Phil and Thom nodded in approval, even if the younger Coulson’s grip on Kit’s hand did momentarily strengthen.

“So take him,” said Clint. “I trained him.”

“Why would I take the student when I can have the master?” asked Steve, sending a slightly apologetic look to Kit who waved it away with a small smile. “Besides, I have Phil breathing down my neck enough when it’s _you_ out there – how’s he going react to me taking his son’s partner into our battles?”

The rest of their company laughed even as Phil tried to protest he wasn’t that bad. What argument he was able to articulate failed to convince anyone.

“SHIELD can burn you, Clint,” said Steve when they had fallen silent again. “But that is their loss. You are more than a codename and a skill-set, Clint, and until _you_ chose otherwise, there will _always_ be a place for you on the Avengers and in this family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "One More Happy Christmas" by the Kelly Family


	19. Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very sorry for the delay in the posting of this chapter. The second scene took forever to flow properly!  
> Oh, and please note the jump in rating. I'm not sure if it's warranted but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

“Krovavyy stervyatnikov!” Natasha snarled as she stormed into the kitchen and proceeded to make far more noise than was strictly necessary to make a cup of tea. Tony, who had been dozing at the counter while Phil looked over the designs for Clint’s new armour to make sure it would be practical for Clint’s SHIELD assignments (they were still holding out hope that Nick Fury wasn’t an idiot) as well as his Avengers’ role, snorted awake.

“Tali?” he asked cautiously, slowly pushing himself up from the counter and blinking sleep out his eyes. Beside him, Phil switched his tablet into standby mode and turned his attention to Natasha, who was continuing to rant in Russian. Tony’s grasp of Russian extended as far as being able to order Vodka, a hotel room or a taxi, so Natasha’s spiel went over his head. Phil’s Russian was more fluent but even he was struggling to keep up with what Natasha was saying. He caught the words ‘ambush’ ‘hospital’ ‘car’ as well as Clint and Bruce’s names but the actual context of what Natasha was saying was somewhat lost.

It was only the fact that Natasha was making a cup of tea rather than demanding that they suit up that had Phil reasonably sure it wasn’t SHIELD that she was furious with.

“Tali, slow down,” Tony instructed sharply. Natasha turned to glare at him though it was more in response to the nickname than the actual instruction.

“Yeah, Pepper still wins the glaring contest,” said Tony, unfazed by the spy’s expression. “In _English_ – what’s wrong?”

“Journalists,” said Natasha, her tone in English just as harsh as it had been in Russian. “Camped outside the Tower. Ambushed us as Clint and Bruce were getting into car. Demanded to know private details – they think there is more to the cover story. They didn’t answer so when the car drove off, they started demanding answers from me.”

“Answers to what?” asked Phil.

“Who is he?” said Natasha. “How long have they been dating? Do they plan on making an official announcement? Are the injuries he’s carrying a result of being with Stark?”

“Excuse me?” yelped Tony but he was mostly ignored by the two SHIELD operatives.

“There was something else,” Phil prompted gently, his gaze landing on Natasha tea long enough for the spy to notice.

“The reporter from the _Foundation_ ball,” said Natasha. “Asked how we could support the people responsible for breaking Tony’s heart.”

“I _knew_ there was something familiar about you,” said Tony, with a sudden snap of his fingers. “Sorry, you just look so different without the desert clothes and the cloth-mask thing.”

“Tony……” started Phil but Tony shook his head and held a hand out to Natasha. She took it warily and Tony tugged her forward to splay it over the covered arc reactor.

“My heart was broken six years ago,” he said, pinning Natasha’s hand flat over the disc. “In a valley in Afghanistan by a weapon _I_ designed and all but called a press conference to show off. Stane broke it again in Malibu when he stunned me and all but ripped the reactor out my chest.”

“Can I tell that to reporters?” asked Natasha.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Tony, Phil nodding empathically in agreement. “At least not the portable life-support detail. What you _can_ tell them is that you, Agent and Cap are the ones who helped fix it and that Clint and Pepper are the reason it keeps going.”

“I will send them Hallmark card,” said Natasha. Phil chuckled while Tony rolled his eyes.

“And this would be why every time I do my own PR I either have Pepper bemoaning the result or the head of the PR department sends me wordy emails reminding me that I have a whole team of people employed specifically for the job,” said the engineer. Natasha grinned and returned to her tea, satisfied for the moment.

_You are going to have to make a statement at some point_ , Phil scribbled on to the tablet before passing it back to Tony. Tony screwed his nose up at the idea and scribbled a response.

_On_ our _timetable not the media’s!_

* * *

“I’m not sure I want an answer to this,” said Tony when he settled beside Clint on the bed later that evening. “But why were you sitting with Steve _shirtless_ before dinner?”

“Are you spying on me?” asked Clint, with a raised eyebrow as he looked up from the book he was reading.

“Not as such,” said Tony, shifting a little nervously beside him. “But I didn’t see you between you returning from the hospital and dinner – I got a little antsy.”

“So had JARVIS show you the video feed from Steve’s studio?”

“Show me footage of your location,” corrected Tony. “Can you please just answer the question?”

“He’s designing a tattoo for me,” said Clint with a shrug. “He wanted to see the scars so he could do it right.”

“A tattoo?” repeated Tony. “Thought you superspies weren’t allowed that kind of thing. Makes you more identifiable to the less-than-friendly or something.”

“Large and/or unique tattoos, yes,” said Clint. “Little ones that are normally covered, not so much. Helps if you’ve got a good story for each one.”

“You say that like you’ve had practice,” said Tony. Clint nodded and, marking the page of his book, pulled his t-shirt over his head before turning so that his back was facing Tony. Tony bit back the gasp that wanted to escape at the sight of the repeatedly marred tanned skin.

“Downside of being a sniper,” Clint said as Tony gently traced a couple of the older looking scars. “Spend so much time looking to the front and down a sight-scope that you leave a damn big target open for whoever manages to get the drop on you.”

“Don’t you wear a vest?” asked Tony. Clint shook his head.

“Uncomfortable if I’m laying in one place for too long,” he said. “And just gets in the way if I’m using my bow.”

“You’ve been with SHIELD fifteen years and they’ve never designed something to accommodate your skill-set?” asked Tony, horrified. Clint chuckled before releasing a gentle moan as Tony traced the scar at the edge of his waistband.

“Like that do you?” grinned Tony, adding the slight hint of a nail into his exploration. Clint’s next breath was decidedly less steady than the previous and Tony repeated the caress.

“SHIELD’s lack of accommodation,” the engineer prompted. Clint let out a shuddery laugh.

“Couldn’t get it thin enough to be comfortable and still be effective,” he said, arching his back as Tony drew figure-of-eights up his spine. “We called it quits about time I met you. Seriously, you want a conversation you gotta stop with the nails.”

“I thought SHIELD trained its people to withstand torture,” said Tony, finishing his figure-of-eight before replacing his fingers with his lips. Clint choked.

“They do,” he said shakily, feeling Tony place a reverent kiss to each of his scars, dragging his tongue along a couple of the larger ones. “But I think I missed this session.”

“Good,” declared Tony, replacing his mouth with his fingers once more so he could talk, his attention now on the multiple tattoos that decorated Clint’s back, each one apparently related to one of the more brutal looking scars. “What kinda stories do you come up with for these?”

“Arrow’s first time I got injured in the field,” said Clint, one hand going up to grip his pillow as he fought for control, naming each tattoo as Tony traced it with what felt like reverence. “Bullet’s first time I got shot. Broken longbow’s when I got stabbed in hand-to-hand combat.”

“And the broken eagle?” asked Tony, tracing the ink on Clint’s left hip, just below a vicious looking tear.

“Mission we found Tasha,” he said.

“Huh,” said Tony a little surprised. “Why’s it broken?”

“’Cause we were both still screwed up,” said Clint. “And I’d just read _The Eagle of the Ninth_ , Sitwell compared me to Esca and things kinda snowballed from there.”

“That’s poetic,” mused Tony, his attention switching back to the scar at the base of Clint’s spine, the first scar Clint had received as a member of the Avengers.

“Had to learn,” said Clint, curling around his pillow and exposing more of the scar to Tony’s attention. “Boss doesn’t like reports than only say ‘There were bad guys. I shot x-number of them. Had to clean my bow/gun when I got home.’ I think he regrets it now.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Tony. “Always see him with a smile after you’ve given them.”

“You sure my reports are why he’s smiling?” asked Clint, turning to give Tony a mischievous grin. Tony chuckled and sharply prodded at Clint’s exposed side.

“Oh, I’m very sure,” he said, encouraging Clint to roll on to his back. “What’s Steve designing for you?”

“No idea,” said Clint, pulling Tony down to settle against his side. “Kit and Thom were coming up with all sorts of weird-and-wonderful suggestions as to what I could get inked on both scars and Steve started asking questions. I mentioned planning on getting one next to the one on my lower back and next thing I know he’s dragging me up to his studio and pulling out his sketchbook. Said he would give me the finished product but nothing else.”

“So not a bomb then,” said Tony.

“First IED?” Clint laughed. “Nah, new-scar tissue’s too fresh – no tattoo artist’ll touch it and both Thom and Bruce would kill me. And Cap would be about eighteen years too late for that one anyway.”

“I keep forgetting you’ve got about ten years on the baby-Agents,” said Tony with a wince. Clint grinned.

“Not playing into your cradle-robbing fantasies?” he asked.

“I want that, I’ve got escort services on speed-dial,” said Tony, dismissively. Clint suddenly twisted in Tony’s embrace so that he was laying on top, a thigh pressed firmly between Tony’s.

“Delete them,” he said. Tony blinked, his train of thought temporarily derailed by the sudden change in position, his flailed arms pinned by the wrist into the pillows and his groin’s growing interest in the wall of solid heat that was pressed against it.

“Tony!” snapped Clint, his balance shifting just enough to press his thigh against Tony’s rapidly swelling erection as well as further pin the engineer to the bed.

“JARVIS?” Tony somehow managed to choke out, somewhat alarmed at how much Clint’s possessive behaviour was turning him on.

“All escort service contact details removed from all StarkIndustries systems,” declared JARVIS and Clint swooped down to take Tony’s mouth in a possessive kiss that was _just_ this side of violent. Tony keened into the kiss and arched up into Clint’s body, using his legs to trap the archer against him as their arousals found a pleasurable grove on their partner’s pelvis.

“Hands,” Tony panted when Clint broke the kiss to bite down the tendon of Tony’s neck. Tony twisted his head to give the archer more access even as he continued trying to free his hands from their hold. “Clint, please.”

Clint released one of Tony’s wrists, mainly so he could keep the man’s head at its current angle while he laved attention to the tendon and the carotid pulse, and Tony immediately wrapped it around the archer’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer and keening lightly as he started to drown in the younger man’s body heat and amorous attention.

“No one else,” Clint whispered hotly into his ear. “No one else gets to see this.”

“No one else,” agreed Tony, strengthening his hold to emphasise his words. Clint whined into his shoulder before diving back in for another kiss, his grip on Tony’s wrist shifting to tangle their fingers while the one in his hair wormed its way under Tony’s t-shirt.

_If this is a broken heart,_ thought Tony as Clint’s fingers found his left nipple and started to tease, the engineer’s own fingers going to card through Clint’s hair. _Then I never want it fixed again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Russian translation**  
>  _Krovavyy stervyatnikov_ – Bloody vultures
> 
> Title from "Santa Baby" written by Joan Javits and Philip Springer


	20. Instead of screams, I swear I can hear music in the air

“Someone had a good time last night,” grinned Bruce as Tony dropped into a chair at the breakfast counter. Tony gave him a bleary smile before proceeding to hold communion with the cup of coffee his fellow scientist set in front of him. Bruce chuckled and settled down opposite him.

“You mark him the same way?” he asked, his hand gesturing to Tony’s neck and the purple bruising that was raised halfway between the engineer’s t-shirt collar and jaw. Tony’s hand went up to cover the mark even as he gave Bruce a warm smile.

“He’s wearing it with pride,” said Tony, sounding somewhat dazed by the idea. Bruce smiled.

“Because he’d proud of getting to call you his own,” said Bruce. “And you’ve given him one of the biggest ‘screw you’ signs possible as far as everyone else is concerned.”

“Huh?”

“Unless you’re Richard Reed, it is physically impossible to give yourself a hickey on the neck,” said Bruce. “You’re gonna give Phil and Pepper a heart attack trying to explain this to the media but the two of you have also made it pretty damn clear that you’re together.”

“That good or bad?” asked Tony, unable to silence the voice that reminded him that Clint’s future with SHIELD was still balanced on a knife edge.

“Personally, I think it’s the best decision either of you could have made,” said Bruce. “The pair of you are genuinely happy about where your relationship is going and it is, honestly, nobody else’s business despite what the general public and jumped-up bureaucrats like to think. SHIELD tries to control enough of our lives, sometimes I think they need reminding that we’re human and that we have a right to run our own lives.”

“That would be a novel idea,” said Tony with a somewhat wistful smile. “Someone else has always tried to schedule every minute of mine since I was six-years-old.”

“Whereas Clint has made a point of being as unpredictable as possible since he was about the same age,” said Bruce. “The two of you will balance each other out without making the other person change on a fundamental level – that’s what a real relationship is supposed to do.”

“So what exactly is our little Spider teaching you?” asked Tony, eager to turn the conversation away from his own relationship. Bruce shook his head.

“No way,” he said. “We’ve had _one_ , very public, date.”

“That’s more than me and Clint have had,” protested Tony. Bruce chuckled again.

“Officially,” he said. “But your relationship is built on over five years of friendship – you’ve had dates, you just didn’t call them that. Me and Natasha are nowhere _close_ to that and I am not ready to have you make it a regular topic of conversation.”

“I wouldn’t!” Tony protested again. Bruce levelled a mildly scathing look at his fellow scientist at the denial.

“Thom and Kit have been here for a total of seven days and you have already brought their relationship up into ten separate conversations,” he said.

“They’ve been engaged for four months,” Tony argued. “It’s not my fault that Kit and Agent kept it quiet ’til Thom got home. Besides, if I _didn’t_ harass them for details, Agent would accuse me of plotting something untoward.”

“Oh, I’ll accuse you of that anyway, Tony,” said Phil as he appeared in the kitchen. “All your questioning does is change my focus.”

“It may say ‘A’ on the side of the building but it is still my name on the lease,” said Tony, pointing his teaspoon at Phil. “I can still chuck the lot of you out on the street.”

“After the performance you gave persuading us all to move in, I think we’re safe for the next few months,” said Phil with a laugh. “And chucking us out certainly won’t get you a repeat performance of last night – Clint can get stroppy if you take away his creature-comforts.”

“Damn straight,” declared Clint as he appeared behind Tony, dropping a kiss to the engineer’s throat just above the passion-bruise before making a beeline for his cereal box and the coffee machine.

“He can stay,” said Tony. “And Pepper is sorta written into the lease agreement. I can still chuck the rest of you though. Legolas, what’s with the get-up?”

“Boss managed to convince Director Fury to give me a Hearing before they make the decision to burn me,” said Clint, tugging somewhat self-consciously at the navy-blue tie he was wearing.

“Uh-huh,” nodded Tony. “Why the monkey-suit?”

“Avengers uniform is destroyed,” said Clint with a shrug as he moved to sit beside Tony. “Street clothes or regular sniper-blacks apparently don’t give the same impression.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’ve done this before?” commented Bruce. Clint grinned while Phil chuckled into his coffee mug.

“Come on doc, you know what my reputation with SHIELD is like,” said Clint. “You really think I managed fifteen years without a few black marks on my file?”

“Enough black marks and the page gets too inky to be used anymore,” said Tony, playing with the rim of the coffee mug. Clint reached out a gentle hand to still the fidgeting and returned the grip that Tony’s fingers turned to apply.

“So we start fresh,” he said. “Cap has already said that I’ve got a spot on the Avengers regardless of SHIELD’s decision, you gonna make one for me in the rest of our lives too?”

“I’d kick Fury off his damn pedestal if I thought it would make any difference,” said Tony. “I just don’t want to have you lose everything because of me.”

“If I get to keep you, Tasha and Phil then I’ll count myself the luckiest guy in the world,” said Clint. “Anything I get to keep on top of that is a bonus.”

“And on that note,” said Phil, finishing off his coffee and straightening his own tie and jacket. “Clint, we shouldn’t really keep the Director waiting.”

“I never keep the Director waiting,” said Clint, sliding to his own feet. Phil gave him a disbelieving look to which Clint tried to look offended. “Ask him yourself, Boss. We always meet exactly when we’re supposed to.”

“Of all the lessons you decided to take to heart,” griped Phil. Clint grinned, turned to ditch his cereal bowl in the sink and gave Tony a short, but deep, kiss.

“I’ll call you soon as I know,” he promised. Tony nodded and pulled Clint in for another kiss before the archer span away to his handler’s side, one hand nervously fidgeting with his tie again as he waved goodbye to Bruce.

“I need a distraction,” Tony declared the second the elevator doors closed behind the pair. Bruce nodded and held out his tablet.

“Been looking at how feasible it is to have Thor’s Hammer and Steve’s shield work together as some kind of laser-beam weapon,” he said. “Second opinion would be appreciated.”

* * *

Bruce’s distraction did not last for long. The puzzle was an interesting one and one that appealed to Tony’s somewhat destructive nature but the engineer wasn’t able to escape the knowledge that the simulations and equations were a distraction technique. Bruce watched him in sympathy as Tony pulled up simulation graph after simulation graph without actually stopping on any long enough to take in anything beyond the print colour.

“JARVIS, save the results and shutdown the projectors,” Bruce instructed when Tony started through the cycle again. Tony turned to his friend with a childishly puzzled expression on his face when the laboratory lights came back up. Bruce gave him a pained smile and stepped round the bench to embrace the engineer.

“He’s gonna be fine,” the physicist said gently. “Phil has had his back for the last fifteen years and Fury is not that much of an idiot that he’ll let Clint go without a fight.”

“What if he has no choice?” asked Tony, forming a fist in Bruce’s shirt. “Even before Loki, Clint didn’t have the cleanest of records. He’s _proud_ of that and there’s only so much an organisation like SHIELD will sweep under the carpet.”

“Clint’s proud of his spotty record because it proves that he’s still his own man,” said Bruce. “And most of his spots are because he looked at the mission on paper and decided that the Intel guys don’t know squat about being in the field. He gets a mark for going against the briefing, not for failing a mission.”

“Spots got him chucked out the Army,” said Tony quietly. Bruce snorted.

“Tony, he’s gay – he could’ve toed the line and followed every order to the letter and the Army would’ve still found some reason to chuck him,” he said. “Now, think about it – the ‘World’s Greatest Marksman’ is a lot more than a showy stage-name from Clint’s circus days. If SHIELD chucks him, who are the _first_ people who will try snatching him up?”

“HYDRA,” said Tony. “Or the Serpents.”

“Which would put him in direct confrontation with SHIELD,” said Bruce, pulling back so that he could make eye contact with Tony. “And risks them losing control of us.”

“Huh?”

“Other Guy likes the little bird,” said Bruce, looking somewhat befuddled by the idea of his alter-ego actually making friends with people. “I seriously doubt he could be persuaded to take him out in battle unless he could be shown that it was in Clint’s best interest. Thor wouldn’t understand – all he’ll see is SHIELD betraying his shield-brother and he’ll either withdraw his support completely or he’ll stand at Clint’s side. Natasha won’t stay with an organisation that would willingly betray one of their best operatives for something as small as a few pictures, especially when said operative happens to be her partner. Steve is the only one who’ll actually have to put any kind of thought into his decision should SHIELD decide to cut Clint loose. Unless you will continue to financially and technologically support the organisation that left your lover with nothing expect he clothes he stands up in?”

“I’d sooner find a way to open Loki’s portal again,” said Tony, a low growl entering his voice.

“Something which Phil will happily tell the rest of the Directorate,” said Bruce with a small, pleased, smile. “AIM and Dr Doom would be trying the one-upmanship gig trying to get you on board if you broke away from SHIELD.”

“I’d make it a condition that they took you on too,” said Tony.

“Should I be concerned about the fate of the world?” asked Hannah as she made her presence known in the lab.

“How did you get up here?” asked Tony, turning to face the teenager. “This is a restricted area.”

“You’re AI let me up,” said Hannah. “Called to speak to Clint and my call got redirected to Kit who told me to get my ass over here ASAP. JARVIS didn’t seem at all surprised when I showed up and pointed me in the right direction. What’s going on?”

“AD is gunning for Clint,” said Kit as he appeared with Thom. “Chief’s persuaded the Directorate that he should be allowed to argue his case. It’s leaving the rest of us are waiting to see exactly how pissed off we should be.”

“Ah,” said Hannah. “I take it that Mr Stark’s plan to have him and Dr Banner join AIM means that ain’t going so well?”

“Got it in one,” said Kit before looking over her shoulder to give Tony a scathing look. “AIM?”

“Hey, you should be asking her how she knows about them!” protested Tony. Beside him Bruce chuckled.

“She’s got two brothers in the Avengers, Tony,” he said. “And is on close terms with SHIELD’s TIC, you’re _really_ surprised that she knows about them? Hannah, please tell me you didn’t trek across the city on your own?”

“Nope,” said Hannah with a grin. “But Damien and Theo got a little side-tracked when we met Captain America in the elevator.”

“Of course they did,” groaned Kit. “Alright, guessing from the decided lack of loud music, flashing graphics or noses buried in tablets, I’d say the distraction techniques aren’t working?”

“’fraid not,” said Bruce.

“Then we’re _all_ going out for some air,” said Kit. Tony snorted in derision.

“Yeah, have you noticed our recent influx of visitors?” he asked.

“The ones that Natasha was cursing at in Russian?” asked Hannah with a grin. “Most of them were trying to run _and_ pack their stuff up at the same time when we came up.”

“Which settles the matter,” said Kit. “Thom, go find the boys and their soldier hero. Tony, Bruce, go put on warmer clothes. Hannah, we’re gonna go find Tasha and hope that _cursing_ the journalists is all she’s doing. Meet in the reception area on Level 2 in ten minutes.”

“Don’t argue,” said Thom when Tony appeared ready to protest. “Clint taught him how to shoot but he got his leadership skills from Dad.”

“We’re doomed!” Tony declared theatrically as Bruce and Thom manhandled him into the elevator.

“Yup,” grinned Kit. “Level 2 in ten minutes or I’m sending my boys to come get you.”

“Doomed!”

* * *

Hannah, Damien and Theo’s arrival at the Tower, and the subsequent sojourn into New York’s somewhat panicked crowd of five-days-before-Christmas shoppers, was a far greater distraction than anyone had actually anticipated. What press that had survived Natasha’s vitriol at the Tower had their work cut out for themselves as they tried to follow the group, Kit, Bruce – who was sticking to Tony like a second shadow – and Natasha all making use of their hard-learnt skills of evasion and deception in order to the keep the group standing out from the crowd (a feat made slightly by easier by the fact Steve had elected to stay behind at the Tower).

The shoppers were bad enough but Natasha and Hannah’s minor disappearing act halfway through the expedition did nothing from Tony’s nerves – it didn’t matter who was with her, Clint would kill him if anything happened to the girl, while Damien and Theo seemed determined to further convince him that Tony Stark and Fatherhood were two concepts that would not appear in any sane person’s reality. He was only too glad to drop the trio off at the metro-station that would see them back to St Nick’s four hours later (Hannah had insisted that they were all old enough and promised that she would call Kit the moment they were back home).

“I have grey hairs!” Tony exclaimed as the group rode the elevator back up to the communal lounge.

“I’m sure Dad would lend you his hair-dye if you asked nicely,” said Thom. Natasha sniggered while Tony looked around at the paediatrician.

“Agent has grey-hairs?” he asked, somewhat disbelievingly. Kit snorted while Thom rolled his eyes.

“He works with you, Clint _and_ Maria Hill on an almost daily basis – of _course_ he’s got grey hairs,” Thom said.

“Hey, why am I at the top of that list?” demanded Tony. Natasha gave him a scathing look.

“Exhibit A,” she said, sweeping a hand down once to indicate Tony’s current overly dramatic performance. “JARVIS could produce evidence of similar nature if you like.”

“Ah-ah, you can’t use _my_ AI’s capabilities against me,” said Tony. “First Law of robotics.”

“Actually, Sir,” said JARVIS. “The First Law of Robotics is _a robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm._ To merely provide evidence for Agent Romanoff and Dr Coulson’s claims does not contravene this Law and therefore such an action would be permitted should such be request – as per the Second Law of Robotics.”

“I _can_ reprogram you, JARVIS,” warned Tony.

“Yes, Sir,” said JARVIS, dryly. “In the meantime, Agent Coulson requests your presence in the communal lounge.”

“Any indication as to why?” asked Tony even as his four companions inhaled sharply.

“No, Sir,” said JARVIS as the elevator doors sliding open to reveal a beaming Steve and Thor, a delighted Pepper and Jane, a satisfied looking Phil and a slightly shell-shocked looking Clint.

“What happened to the phone call?” asked Tony, his attention immediately being caught by Clint.

“You left your phone here,” said Phil. Tony looked startled even as Pepper held up the object in question. “I sent Kit and Tasha a text when Steve informed us you’d been temporarily dragged into being a chaperone.”

“Sneaky bastards,” Tony declared to the room at large, holding his arms out to Clint. Clint let out a shuddery breath and sprang forward into Tony’s arms, Natasha reacting just in time to rescue the bag of delicate tree ornaments the engineer had set at his feet, the force of Clint’s body hitting Tony’s pushing the pair backwards against the wall.

“Told you so,” said Bruce, clasping Tony’s forearm briefly before joining Natasha and Steve in front of the Christmas tree.

“Welcome home?” said Tony quietly to Clint, aware that his world was rapidly shrinking to encompass just the man in his arms. Most of Clint’s shell-shocked expression vanished at the words and he surged forward to capture Tony’s mouth with his own.

Behind them, Phil watched for a moment, his smug look of self-satisfaction slipping into a gentle gaze of a pleasure as two of his closest friends helped to ground each other once again. Content that they had everything under control, he turned back to the rest of the Avengers and their holiday guests who appeared to be bickering as to how best to hang the newest ornaments for their tree. Rolling his eyes, and muttering something about pre-school children being better behaved, Phil strode forward to take control before one of them ended up destroying something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Three Laws of Robotics" of which Tony and JARVIS mention two of are from the 1942 science fiction short story _Runaround_ written by Isaac Asimov. 
> 
> Title from "What’s This?" written and performed by Danny Elfman for the 1993 movie _The Nightmare Before Christmas_


	21. La mère Gigogne et les polichinelles

“Philip, I sudden find myself concerned for the lives of New York’s citizens,” declared Agent Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter (retired) as Phil showed her into his apartment around mid-afternoon only to find the lounge commandeered as Thom, Kit and Natasha quietly and efficiently wrapped a large pile of presents with Clint sitting within arm’s reach, carefully writing names on to a sheet of festive-looking labels before Tony stuck them to the appropriate parcel. The engineer was the first to look up from his task – more to look for a free spot to set his newly addressed parcel than to pay attention to the newcomers – and he quickly jabbed Thom and Kit in the ribs (raising yelps of protest from both men) lightly jostled Natasha’s knee with his foot and waited for Clint to finish what he was writing before resting a hand on his thigh in order to catch his attention.

“I never thought I would see the day Anthony Stark would be personally labelling children’s Christmas presents,” Peggy continued as she took a seat in the nearest armchair, Thom and Kit immediately abandoning their tasks to kiss and embrace her in greeting.

“Nanny you wound me,” declared Tony, pressing a hand over the arc reactor as though Peggy’s comment had struck him there. Natasha smacked him upside the head as she gracefully rose to her feet and picked her way across the littered lounge-room floor to greet the elderly woman with a kiss and brief embrace.

“Babushka,” the Russian said warmly as she knelt beside Peggy’s chair. Peggy smiled at the endearment that had taken a couple years shy of a _decade_ to flow effortlessly from Natasha’s tongue.

“Nataliya,” she greeted in return. Phil tried very hard to contain his laughter as Natasha didn’t even bother trying to hide her small smile of pleasure at the name, Peggy being the _only_ person allowed to use the original variation of her name without any form of reprisal. Clint didn’t hold back his laughter as Tony affected a pout when he realised the somewhat preferential treatment, an expression that only developed in response to Clint’s reaction.

“I hear you have been causing quite the stir recently, my dear boy,” Peggy said as she accepted Clint’s kiss of greeting before the archer settled himself in front of her, allowing the elderly woman to examine the still healing cuts and bruises that decorated the left side of his face.

“When I left Charles’ School this morning, I wasn’t quite sure which of your multiple fans was most upset,” continued Peggy. “And I’m not just talking about the news of your new collection of cuts and bruises.”

“The cuts and bruises were an accident,” said Clint. “The rest was me doing my job and rattling a few cages in the process.”

“And jettisoning the dreams of several young women clear out the water in the process,” said Peggy. “But since when has it been your job to be photographed so intimately with another?”

“It is my job to protect my family,” said Clint, almost defiantly as he behaviour was once more questioned. Peggy smiled gently at him and cupped his healthier cheek.

“Good answer,” she said before looking up to the room at large, her attention caught by the inadvertently disrupted production line.

“Would it upset things greatly if I stole Anthony for a short while?” she asked, looking back at Clint. Clint looked to Tony, who was looking somewhere between curious and wary about Peggy’s behest, before shaking his head.

“Boss can help me,” he said.

“Good,” said Peggy, holding an expectant hand out to Tony as she made to rise from the chair. “Philip, which of these ridiculous oversized rooms am I to be staying in over the holidays?”

* * *

“Anthony, come sit beside me,” Peggy requested, patting the free space on the bed in the smallest of Phil’s guest bedrooms, selected at Peggy’s insistence that as a ninety-year-old woman she did not require much space and that she would be far more comfortable in the smaller room.

Tony did as he was bid without protest.

“Are you happy?” asked Peggy, making sure she could see Tony’s face as he answered.

“There any reason I shouldn’t be?” asked Tony. Peggy did not look impressed with the response.

“Anthony, do not forget that I witnessed your efforts at personal destruction the last time the press dragged you into every publication they could think of,” she said. “You have worked hard in the last few years to change your image and I just want reassurance that this week’s gossip-fodder is not going to knock you off the wagon, so to speak.”

“As long as I get to keep Clint, the press can say what they like about me,” Tony said.

“I’ve heard you utter a similar vow before, Anthony,” said Peggy. “Things didn’t work out well for you that time around.”

“I was nineteen!” protested Tony.

“Yet you were determined that Claire was the one,” said Peggy. “Don’t protest otherwise, I remember the designs for a wedding ring as well as the tentative prototype for an engagement ring.”

“That was twenty-five years ago,” Tony continued to protest even as his hands went up to run through his hair. “I’m not even close to the same person I was back then.”

“I know that,” said Peggy, gently untangling Tony’s grip and cupping his hands between her own. “But I also know that after your relationship with Claire ended, it took nearly twenty years and a near-death experience to have you turn your life around again.”

“Clint isn’t Claire,” said Tony.

“How?” asked Peggy. “Beyond the obvious, what makes Clint more special than the hundreds of people you’ve fooled around with in the last twenty-five years?”

“He sees me,” said Tony. “He took the time and the effort to get past the genius, billionaire, playboy to find _me_.”

“So did Colonel Rhodes yet I don’t see the two of you falling into bed together,” said Peggy.

“Am I not allowed to have friends?” asked Tony. “Rhodey sees me, and so does Phil, they just doesn’t take it as far as imagining what I look like without my clothes on. Instead, they give me this standard to measure up to and let me know – sometimes painfully – when I haven’t met it. I need that and, God knows, Pepper needed the help sometimes.”

“What else?” asked Peggy. “Taking the time and effort to find out what is under all the masks and showmanship makes him interesting, maybe a friend. What has you jumping to that to lovers and potentially more?”

“He’s handsome,” Tony started, earning himself a light smack on the wrist. “He’s friendly, funny, caring, loyal, stupidly genuine for someone who earns his living by spying and so unconvinced by his own self-worth that I find myself torn between being humbled and wanting to smack some sense into him.”

“Humble is not a word many people would use to describe Clint,” said Peggy. Tony gave her a somewhat pained sounding laugh.

“Day he kissed me for the first time,” he said. “He said it had taken him five years to find the courage to do it and even then he’d needed the excuse of mistletoe in case things blew up on him. Said that he’d counted himself lucky to be my friend and that he’d barely _dreamed_ of being allowed to have more. I’m still not convinced he understands I want to be in this for the long haul, that I’m really comfortable in the bed that we’re making together, that every time he says he loves me I find a little more courage to at least show him that I love him too.”

“So I ask again,” said Peggy with a small smile. “Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Tony replied with a small laugh. “Happier than I have been in a long time.”

“Then I shall hold off on having Philip track down the _New York Post_ page-6 journalist,” declared Peggy.

“Nanny!”

* * *

“Remind me again – _why_ am I giving the monkey suit two outings in the same week?” Tony griped as Pepper straightened his bow-tie three hours later.

“Because the David H Koch Theatre will not allow you in if you were anything less,” replied Pepper with the tone of a long suffering mother.

“Koch Theatre?” repeated Tony, his expression going from mild disgust to wide-eyed realisation within a matter of seconds. “That’s tonight?”

“Opening night,” said Pepper. “The Nutcracker.”

“I thought you were going to that too?” said Tony, looking confused. “I clearly remember you being excited the day the tickets went on sale.”

“Yes,” said Pepper. “But that was before Nana-Peggy came for Christmas. She is taking my ticket while Happy and I make use of the fact we’ll have the top eleven floors to ourselves tonight.”

“Does Steve know about this?” asked Tony. Pepper laughed lightly.

“I’m almost convinced Thom, Kit and Clint are planning on keeping her arrival a secret until they arrive at the theatre,” she said. “Clint’s reprieve has brought his impish nature roaring to the fore I’m afraid.”

“You were just as worried as the rest of us,” Tony accused. Pepper smiled gently as she smoothed the shoulders of Tony’s into sitting flat.

“I had every right to be,” she said, stepping back. “Now shoo! Phil and Kit are driving – you’re with Steve and Clint in the forward car that is leaving in seven minutes.”

“Alright, alright,” griped Tony, dancing out of Pepper’s guiding hand. He turned to grin at her as he waited for the elevator. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“That gives me a lot of leeway,” remarked Pepper with an answering grin.

“Well, I’ve never actually……” started Tony but the rest of his responding comment was stopped by the arrival of the elevator and JARVIS informing him that he had five minutes before Phil was leaving.

* * *

Thom, Kit and Clint had somehow managed to succeed in their plan to keep Peggy’s arrival a secret from Steve until they arrived at the David H Koch Theatre, one of the New York Ballet Company’s principle venues. Tony was genuinely impressed by the feat because a) Steve’s observation skills were only marginally outclassed by Natasha’s and b) the trio had been excitedly speaking about Nana-Peggy for the last three days, uncaring about who their audience was. Tony was going with the assumption that the affectionate title had thrown the super-soldier off slightly, Clint and Tony’s use of Kit’s nickname having done the same during the first week of the tactical-sniper’s assignment as the Avengers’ backup detail.

The super-soldier’s expression when he fully recognised Peggy, as she entered the theatre foyer on Kit’s arm, had been entertaining and Tony’s amusement was not helped by Clint’s grin.

“Well, Captain,” Peggy said, when she was within speaking, rather than shouting, range of the super-solider. “I hope you have a good excuse for standing my up at the Stork Club?”

“Peggy I……” Steve floundered, looking like a startled rabbit caught in the headlights. “I’m sorry, I got a little side-tracked then got lost on my way home.”

Peggy gave an exaggerated sigh, slapping Kit’s wrist as the Agent failed to contain his own amusement at the scene.

“Well, such is war,” she said. “At least you turned up _this_ time.”

“My team wouldn’t let me make the same mistake twice,” Steve said, throwing Tony, Phil and Clint an exasperated look. Clint’s grin turned to a chuckle as he wrapped his arm around Tony’s waist.

“You’re welcome, Captain,” snarked Tony, mirroring Clint’s half embrace.

“Well, Captain,” said Phil from Steve’s elbow. “Are you going to escort the lady?”

“Of course,” said Steve, suddenly bursting into action and striding forward to offer Peggy his arm, which she accepted with a gently smile that had Clint, Kit and Thom chuckle and Tony whistle as Steve flushed.

“Now all we need to do,” said Thom as the group moved up the stairs to their box. “Is get Dad paired up with someone. Would hate to have him feel like a spare part at Christmas.”

“Oh, hell, no!” came Phil’s protest from behind them.

 

The sets were magnificent, the costumes were dazzling, the dancing was perfect, Clara and the Sugar-Plum Fairy were beautiful, the Nutcracker Prince was handsome, Clint had made (but unable to enact) plans to kidnap the cutest of La mère Gigogne Polichinelles and Tony was convinced that Steve hadn’t watched a single step.

_We’re living proof that miracle and second chances really do happen_ , he thought as he watched a completely besotted Captain escort his darling lady back into the Tower later that evening, feeling Clint slip a hand into his own.

_Merry Christmas, buddy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Grand Divertissement" from Act II of the _The Nutcracker Ballet_ by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky


	22. For the present, look high, not low

Ambushing Clint from behind rarely proved a profitable venture, especially when the man had near-perfect aim and had spent the last fifteen years learning from Phil how to turn just about anything into a debilitating weapon. That didn’t stop Steve from literally pulling the archer off his feet and into a reverse embrace Saturday morning as he and Bruce stood making French toast and bacon. Not even the spatula that landed violently against his knuckles while a booted foot connected with a sock clad ankle was enough to put the super-solider off expressing his gratitude.

“Last night,” said Steve when he let Clint go. “Was one of the best nights of my life. Thank you!”

“Ah, you’re welcome?” said Clint, looking a little sheepish about attacking the Captain. Bruce chuckled and removed the kitchen utensil from Clint’s hand before he did any more damage while the still beaming Steve pulled him into another hug.

“I’m gonna start getting a complex,” said Tony as he wandered into the kitchen, snagging a piece of bacon out the frying pan before resting against the counter beside Bruce, juggling his pilfered bacon to cool it down slightly as he did so.

“First you’re half naked in his studio then you’re getting all touchy-feely in the kitchen.”

“Someone’s grouchy,” commented Bruce, slapping away the hand that was creeping to steal another bacon rasher.

“You would be too if your lover insisted on getting up the wrong side of noon of a _Saturday_ ,” grouched Tony.

“Which is why God created caffeine,” said Clint turning to snag the large cup that had been sitting on the hotplate and pressing it into Tony’s hand with a kiss. Tony caught one hand behind his head to extend the contact, causing Bruce to become increasingly interested in the breakfast preparations while Steve fidgeted behind them.

“Good morning,” Clint said with a small chuckle why they eventually parted.

“Mm-hmm,” said Tony, snagging another brief kiss before turning to hold communion with his first coffee of the day.

“And I’m jilted already,” Clint laughed, looking to Steve. “Where’s Nana-Peggy?”

“Still in Phil’s apartment,” said Steve. “I may have worn her out last night.”

“She’ll forgive you,” said Clint, carefully shifting his weight into Tony’s instep to still the engineer’s tongue against any off-colour remark he was about to make. “You at least cash in on that rain-check?”

“Rain-check?” asked Bruce. Clint nodded, glancing at Steve.

“When I put the HYDRA bird in the ice in ’44, Peggy was on the other end of the radio,” said Steve. “I said I needed a rain-check on the dance I’d promised her.”

“So?” prompted Clint. Steve laughed at the archer’s enthusiasm.

“Yes,” he said, accepting the plate of French toast Bruce was holding out. “JARVIS was able to provide the music and we waltzed around Phil’s living room – my liaison Agent now thinks I’m a love-struck idiot. How did you know about that anyway?”

“Nana-Peggy told me the story herself,” said Clint. “’Bout a month after me and Kit met. Kid was needing help in dealing with the fact he’d made his little sister a promise that he was no longer able to keep and Nana-Peggy volunteered the story.”

“Odd choice of illustration,” remarked Bruce.

“Not when it’s told from Nana-Peggy’s point of view,” said Clint. “And Cap still had another ten years to go in the ice.”

“Is anyone ever going to explain why you, Tony, Phil, Pepper and the boys call her Nana-Peggy?” asked Steve. “Fury gave me her file – along with the rest of the Howling Commandos – I know she never married or had kids so none of you are actually related to her by blood.”

“Not true,” said Clint with a grin. “Phil and Thom are her nephews.”

“What?!”

“Nana-Peggy had a younger sister back in England during the War,” said Clint. “She came to America ’bout a year after the Korean War ended and met US Marine James Thomas ‘JT’ Coulson. Six years and one marriage-ceremony later Phil was born. Thom followed twenty-seven years later.”

“He never said……” said Steve weakly. Clint shrugged.

“He was already trying hard not to go all fan-boy over you the first few times he met you,” he said. “I think he’s _still_ trying to work out how to say ‘by the way, I’m actually the nephew of your wartime girlfriend’ without coming across even more stalker-like.”

“So instead I just let you open your mouth at the opportune moment,” said Phil from the doorway.

“Oops,” winced Clint before busying himself with his breakfast. Steve turned to look at Phil, his face an open mix of question and longing.

“It’s true, Steve,” said Phil. “Dad helped on Howard Stark’s search and rescue missions during the 60s before he got shipped out to Vietnam.”

“And here was me thinking you just liked the comics a little too much,” commented Tony, looking vaguely impressed. Phil chuckled and shook his head.

“I liked the stories,” he said. “It’s pointless for me to deny that Captain America was my hero and was part of the reason I went into the Army – I don’t think my Dad will ever completely forgive either of us for that one, Steve – but the comics didn’t tell everything and I got the best stories from Nana-Peggy.”

“If you’re her nephew, why’s she Nana not Aunt?” asked Steve.

“Because, according to my Mom, at seven months old I was inordinately pleased by the fact I could say Nana,” said Phil. “I decided that’s what I would call Peggy and it stuck. Made sense for Thom to keep up the name and the rest just followed suit as they wanted.”

“Peggy could be very stubborn when she chose to be,” said Steve with a shaky smile. “Must be something in the Carter line as a whole. And your reaction to meeting me on that jet makes a bit more sense now.”

“See, I _told_ you he hadn’t completely bought the jittery fan-boy talk from a _fifty-three_ year old Ranger,” said Clint, daring to pop his head back up from his breakfast.

“Oh, like you didn’t react the same way when I introduced you to Ian,” sniped back Phil with a raised eyebrow.

“ _That_ was totally different,” said Clint. “Captain Edgerton was a legend when I was in the Army. Even Cole went a little weak at the knees first time they were introduced.”

“And the rest of us have just become completely lost,” remarked Tony, glad to see that Steve and Bruce were indeed as confused as he was.

“Ian’s his best mate,” said Clint. “Works for the FBI and is the country’s third best shot. Cole is his……what word did they decide on again?”

“I don’t think they have,” said Phil with a chuckle. “And I introduced our archer to Ian within minutes of him having _obliterated_ Ian’s high scores on the Quantico range with a compound bow.”

“He was a little pissed and challenged for a rematch,” said Clint.

“Which, between his hero-worshipping and his cocky attitude, Clint nearly lost,” remarked Phil. “It was a good training exercise for him. How’d this all come up?”

“Asked him if he cashed his rain-check,” said Clint, nodding towards Steve. “He asked how I knew about it and things just spiralled from there.”

“I swear that is going to be your epitaph,” said Phil with a sigh. “Here lies Clinton Francis Barton, beloved son, brother, friend and lover. Things just spiralled.”

“Got a nice ring to it,” said Clint, yelping when Tony suddenly pressed himself into Clint’s back, his arms forming a possessive hold.

“Not on my watch,” the engineer warned, settling his chin on Clint’s shoulder. Clint twisted his head to smile at his lover, settling his right hand over Tony’s before turning back to the remains of his breakfast.

“About that, Tony,” said Bruce. “You nearly done with your project? I promised my lab-techs they could have Christmas through New Year off.”

“ _Secret_ project,” said Tony, glaring at Bruce. “ _Secret_.”

“Then get your ass in gear because the four techs I have in today clock off for a fortnight in a little under nine hours and not a single one of them will be staying a minute later to help you out,” said Bruce.

* * *

“Brother Hawkeye!” declared Thor as he joined Clint and Kit in the firing range on Level 69 just after lunch. “I am in need of assistance.”

“What with, buddy?” asked Clint, looking up from a series of spent paper targets.

“I desire to present my Lady Jane with a gift come Christmastide yet I am at a loss as to determine what would be appropriate,” said Thor. “Master JARVIS has recommended against several of the ideas I have presented thus far.”

“JARVIS?” asked Clint, glancing up at the ceiling in question.

“I was merely informing the Prince that a woman such as Dr Foster would not have a use for any form of weaponry beyond the taser Ms Lewis has recently persuaded her to carry,” replied JARVIS. “And that it is culturally frowned upon to present someone with an animal skin.”

“When I enquired of other female Agents, they recommended a perfume or some form of jewellery,” said Thor looking perplexed. “However, I have noticed that Jane does not wear much adornment beyond a hair-tie or her eyeglasses. And she has previously mentioned that she finds perfume an irritant to both her skin and her eyes – I do not wish to buy a gift that causes my Lady discomfort.”

“Always a good start,” said Clint, capping his pen and rolling up the paper targets. “Jane does wear a necklace though – congratulations present from her parents when she got her doctorate.”

“How do you know that?” asked Thor.

“Dr Selvig brought her in to help with the early stages of the Tesseract project,” said Clint. “Fury actually made it an order that I didn’t hide in the rafters for a year and it came up.”

“Did she mention a matching bracelet?” asked Thor, his expression turning thoughtful as he tried to remember the contents of Jane’s small jewellery box. “On Asgard, it is traditional that both necklace and bracelet be gifted together.”

“She wouldn’t wear one - spends too much time in labs,” said Clint, hating the crestfallen look Thor suddenly adopted at the news. “Necklace is a good place to start though.”

“I do not wish to make her choose between her parents and me,” said Thor. Clint chuckled and held his hand out to Kit.

“Can I borrow your chain a second?” he asked. Kit unfastened the leather cord from around his neck and coiled it into Clint’s hand.

“This is a charm necklace,” said Clint, spreading the jewellery out so the leather cord ran up his wrist and between his fingers. Spreading out from the middle of the cord were seven silver links, five of which were adorned with a small silver charm: an unadorned crucifix, a fox cub, a Triquetra knot, a blended gold and silver lightning bolt and the eternal knot shot through with slithers of sapphire.

“The necklace is sold separate from the charms, the idea being that the necklace is personalised by the owner to suit their personal tastes,” Clint explained. “Jane’s necklace is something similar and the only reason she wears one charm on it is because that’s the way her parent’s gave it to her. If you bought her a charm for it, she would not have to decide whether to wear her parent’s gift or yours.”

“Do the charms have meanings?” asked Thor. Clint handed the necklace back to Kit who held it so the five charms were visible.

“The necklace was a gift from St Nick’s orphanage when I was made a SHIELD Agent,” the younger sniper explained. “The cross was the Sister’s way of asking me not to forget about them. The Triquetra was from Clint for the same occasion and his way of telling me not to forget my roots. The fox cub was a twenty-first birthday gift from the Chief – he said it reminded him of my personality and that I wasn’t to let SHIELD smother that. The lightning bolt and the eternal knot are from Thom – the bolt was a first anniversary gift and the knot is my version of an engagement ring for when I’m on duty.”

“Jane wears a golden star with a diamond tail,” mused Thor.

“From the ridiculously proud parents of an astrophysicist,” said Clint. “Her words not mine. If you’re gonna go with the idea, you’ve gotta think of something that would represent something about Jane or your relationship together.”

“Where would I even start?!” exclaimed Thor. Clint couldn’t help but laugh as Kit refastened his necklace about his neck.

“You hear her name and what’s the first thing that come to mind?” asked the younger sniper.

“Her eyes,” said Thor. “They always seem to dance with joy and laughter like a child’s yet they hold a wisdom that is beyond her years.”

“And is there something on Asgard that reminds you of that?” asked Kit.

“Sleipnir,” said Thor. “My Father’s mount and the greatest of all horses in the Nine Realms.”

“An eight-legged horse would need to be a custom job,” said Clint, shaking his head. “No way you’d get it before Christmas. But an owl might work – in Western culture they’re seen as wise.”

“Or a dolphin,” said Kit. “They’re playful and friendly aquatic creatures.”

“Should I not get both?” asked Thor. “So that Jane would know the entirety of my feelings.”

“I think she knows that, buddy,” said Clint. “Tell you what, we’ve got a couple ideas what to look for, why don’t we go down to the jewellery stores and see if there’s anything you like?”

“I do not wish to impose,” said Thor. Clint and Kit both shook their heads.

“You’re not,” Clint assured. “Kit, can you grab our jackets while I go tell Tony we’re disappearing for a few hours.”

“We going out the back or front?” asked Kit. Clint grinned.

“Front,” he said. “Tasha went into great detail on what she would do if anyone hounded us. Most of the vultures left after that.”

“The remainder are almost deserving of whatever story they get,” remarked Kit. Clint nodded his agreement while Thor thought it better that he remain ignorant as to exactly what the pair were talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Christmas Present" from Andy Williams’ 1974 album _Christmas Present_ written by Larry H. Brown  & Keats Tyler


	23. Wealth or rank possessing

 

“When Phil said you gave a present to each kid, I though he meant you dropped them off with the nuns and they were anonymous,” said Tony as he, Steve and Kit helped Clint carry the sacks of parcels in to the main dining room of St Nick’s Orphanage mid Sunday afternoon.

“Why would I do that?” asked Clint. “They all know who I am.”

“Enough to expect a gift?” asked Tony. Clint and Kit threw him a disgruntled look while Steve wore an expression of curiosity.

“The kids are here because there is literally no one else to look after them,” said Kit. “Round Christmas time the means the orphanage becomes the focal point of many people’s sudden desire to ‘give to those less fortunate’. It’s a great way of the nuns being able to make sure everyone has something to open on Christmas Day but there is very little thought put into the gifts.”

“So what makes Clint’s gifts so special, aside from the personalised name tag?” asked Steve.

“Present from a big brother,” said Kit. “It’s rarely anything too expensive but it’s always stuff that the kids either need or are genuinely interested in. The donation gifts are usually just stuck in a generic storage area where everyone can get them – the exception being if a particular child has showed an obvious attachment to a gift. Clint’s gifts are _never_ put into general use – they are personal and they stay that way.”

“So what Clint get you when you were here?” asked Tony.

“First year it was a watch,” said Kit. “Which I still wear. Second was this stupidly fancy graphics calculator that flits between my office and the Chief’s. Third year he paid half the fees so I could get a Spanish tutor – I had to earn the other half in the coffee shop around the corner from school and make sure my grade stayed up. My last year it was half the suit I wore to my graduation ball.”

“Half the suit?” asked Steve.

“Same as the Spanish tutor,” said Clint. “I give half and he had to work for the rest. All the Junior and Senior kids get the same deal – last two years they’re here, I help them out with school in whatever way they think they need it most but _help_ is all I do – they’ve got to meet me halfway.”

“And you do this every year?” asked Steve.

“Expect for ’04 and 2009,” said Clint. “Tsunami hit large part of south-east Asia on Boxing Day ’04 and the relief effort was huge. All except the very youngest kids asked that I take their presents back and that I give the money to the American Red Cross instead. Same thing happened when an earthquake hit Haiti in January 2010, though then we decided to send out physical aid rather than monetary.”

“Wow,” said Steve, both he and Tony looking stunned at the generosity. Clint and Kit looked proud of the children they both claimed as part of their extended family.

“Would take any one of them over a kid of my own blood any day,” said Clint. “Even the hellions that we currently call Fraser and Caspian, who need to work on keeping their giggles quiet when sneaking where they shouldn’t.”

“He started it!” the boys in question immediately accused as they tumbled out from behind the Christmas Tree. Clint chuckled and tugged both children towards him to knock away the pine-needles that had snagged on their clothing.

“Where are you two supposed to be?” asked Kit with a raised eyebrow, knowing exactly what was expected of the children on a Sunday afternoon – finishing homework or quietly entertaining themselves in the dormitories, under the supervision of a Mother-appointed older resident or volunteer parishioner, thus allowing the Sisters time to meditate and pray in relative silence.

“Doing Math,” admitted Fraser, his face the picture of disgust.

“Writing a book report,” added Caspian, his own expression one of equal disdain.

“So why are you in here?” asked Clint.

“Jason saw your car arrive,” said Fraser. “He wanted to come down too but he got caught by Mrs Watson.”

“She’s _still_ volunteering to watch you lot?” asked Clint with a small laugh. “Steve, Tony, you organise the presents around the tree – make sure the ones for this pair are well hidden – while Kit and I take the troublemakers back upstairs.”

“What?” Tony asked, startled. “Hey, no, wait that wasn’t part of the deal!”

“Is now,” said Clint, chivvying Caspian in front of him while placing a guiding hand firmly on Fraser’s shoulder, Kit falling in beside him.

“We’re never gonna get them back now!” bemoaned Tony when the two snipers were out of earshot. Steve chuckled and started to sort out the parcels around the tree.

“There are worse places to lose them,” he said. “Just have to make sure we frisk Clint for smuggled kids before we leave.”

“Then we need to do this quickly,” said Tony, opening a second bag. “’Cause Clint has been known to be able to sneak past _Natasha_.”

* * *

“You appear lost in thought, Brother Hawk,” said Thor as he and Jane settled themselves in the sofa opposite Clint and seven residents from St Nicholas’ Orphanage, all of whom appeared to be entranced by a wreath of five candles, three of which were partially burnt.

“Thor, turn it down a little,” requested Tony from where he was sitting by the wet-bar. “You don’t have prays on Asgard do you?”

“Prays?” repeated Thor, obligingly lowering his voice and canting his head curiously. “We do not, though there are many rituals we follow. Do the candles form some part of an Earth ritual then?”

“Kinda,” said Clint, fishing a lighter out of his pocket. “It’s an Advent Wreath.”

“Oh, I have heard tell of such a wreath,” said Thor, looking to Jane for confirmation. “You light the candles to chase away the dark of winter?”

“Originally, yeah,” smiled Jane. “When the Church adopted it, it became a symbol of hope and anticipation.”

“Anticipation?” said Thor.

“For the birth of Christ,” said Jane, looking to Clint to explain the rest. Clint nudged Theo’s shoulder to encourage him to answer the rest of Thor’s question.

“You light one of the coloured candles for each of the four Sunday’s before Christmas and then the white candle on Christmas Day in celebration,” said Theo, pointing to the respective candles as he spoke.

“And you do this every year?” asked Thor. “This Christ must indeed be a fast growing human if He is reborn every year.”

“He isn’t actually born every year,” said Hannah with a small laugh, the eldest orphan having decidedly more confidence around the Avengers than any of her compatriots. “Christmas is more a remembrance of the first time Jesus was born and many people hope that He comes again.”

“To do what?” asked Thor, perfectly willing to accept that God could, and would, become man and spend time on Earth – he and his family were examples of such a belief, albeit a decidedly more polytheistic one than Christianity purported.

“Bring about the end of days,” said Clint. “Kinda like your people’s version of Ragnarök only a little more definitive than that.”

“And your people look forward to such a day?” asked Thor in mild surprise. Clint chuckled lightly.

“It’s more the eternal life part of the deal that people await,” he said.

“And you believe this too?” asked Thor, looking between the children, Jane and the two Avengers. The engineer and astrophysicist both shook their heads, along with three of the children while Clint and the remaining four children offered the Asgardian a series of half-hearted shrugs.

“The God part I’m willing to admit to,” Clint said. “That He’s a loving and forgiving Father is a nice image to cling to. Not so convinced about the rest of the teachings put out by _any_ of the major faiths.”

“So what’s special about this one?” asked Jane.

“Started at St Nick’s,” said Clint. “Advent wreath would be lit every Sunday at the evening meal. We were supposed to think on the Scriptures we’d heard that morning, how they impacted on our own lives and what we needed ask for God’s help in.”

“Supposed to?” repeated Tony, moving to wrap his arms around Clint even as Hannah sought out the archer’s hand. Clint laughed a little weakly as he returned the teenager’s grip.

“I was orphaned at six years old,” he said. “All but forgotten about by Iowa’s Child Services by the time I was twelve, beaten and left for dead by my own flesh-and-blood when I was seventeen, kicked out the Army at twenty-one and told I was mere minutes from serving a life-sentence for domestic terrorist charges at twenty-three unless I join SHIELD. When I ran to St Nick’s I wasn’t looking for God, I was looking for shelter. It took a long time before I accepted that _maybe_ some higher power had a plan for me and by that point I’d developed my own traditions from the stuff the Sisters were practicing and preaching.”

“He makes a great role-model for those of us who are older when we’re orphaned,” said Kit as he sank to his knees beside the archer, Damien scrambling to sit beside him while Thom settled on the sofa nearby sofa with Phil. Jane and Thor looked between the snipers curiously.

“Most of the kids at St Nick’s are there ’cause there’s Catholicism in their background,” said Clint. “Doesn’t mean they like it when someone tells them that the same God who’s taken their family has a plan for their lives.”

“And this makes you a role-model how?” asked Tony, noting that five of the youngsters before them did indeed look unimpressed with the suggestion of their lives having a predetermined route-planner attached.

“Doesn’t let us disregard the Church completely,” said Chloe in a slightly timid voice, earning herself a beaming grin from Clint and Hannah. “Least not until we’re able to rationally think about things.”

“In the meantime,” said Theo. “He’s adapted a few of the practices – like this one - so we would still take part. It helped that we all knew he’d side with the Sisters if we step outtta line.”

“As a caretaker should,” said Thor, apparently pleased with the role the children of St Nick’s had given Clint. “Though if you do not use the religious words, what do you have the children focus on when you light the candles.”

“What they mean,” said Damien as Clint handed Phil his lighter and a thin taper candle, Bruce and Natasha settling on the sofa beside Thom. “Each Sunday has a theme and that’s the bit most of us go with. Rest of it’s just the same.”

“It’s easier to watch than explain,” said Thom as Phil moved to kneel before the Advent Wreath and lit the taper candle, JARVIS dimming the main lights without command.

“Advent is the season of Hope,” said Phil, lighting the shortest of the purple candles. “Hope for a new beginning, for another chance. As we light this first candle, let us think about the dreams we foster in our hearts for the coming year.”

“Advent is the season of Fulfilment,” said Kit, taking the taper candle from Phil and lighting another of the purple candle. “Fulfilment of promises made long ago. As we light this second candle, let us think about the oaths, vows and promises we have made to others and how the coming year will allow us to fulfil them and stay true to the words we utter.”

“Advent is the season of Joy,” said Clint, lighting the third, and only pink, candle of the wreath. “Joy for the gifts we have been given. As we light this Gaudete candle, let us think about what we have been given this year and how we, like the Virgin Mary, might remain humble at their receipt yet show others our delight and gratitude.”

“Advent is the season of Anticipation,” said Bruce as the gently smiling Natasha accepted the waning taper candle from Clint to light the remaining purple candle. “Anticipation of what is to come in the new year that looms around the corner. As we light this Angel’s candle, let us think about awaits us in the coming months and that we, like the people of long ago, look towards the future with a ready heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Good King Wenceslas" by John Mason Neale


	24. Gifts abound here great and small

 

Christmas Eve passed with its usual last minute panic and chaos. People needing to grab that last minute present for child or partner or friend, the elected Christmas Day dinner chef raiding the supermarket for the best of the remaining fresh produce, kids spending the day high as kites without any sugar inducement.

Stark Tower was not immune to the eleventh hour hustle and bustle, but while most of the residents were caught up in the mundane rush, Tony and Pepper had the added problem of making sure _StarkIndustries_ was prepared for the holiday shutdown. That Pepper had been working on such preparations for the last six weeks meant that the process was a smooth one but there was always that last minute snag that caught everyone out.

Come eight o’clock that evening however, all the residents of Stark Tower were gathered in the communal dining room, dressed to a smart-casual dress code and Pepper and the SHIELD operatives all feeling half-naked without their pagers or phones (which were switched off and secreted away somewhere in Bruce’s lab). The large mahogany table, that Tony had purchased more for show than actual usage, was covered in festive coloured cloths and places were set with multiple cutlery set placements and delicate looking nameplates that, upon close inspection were found to be made of sugar-flower paste and embossed with a flowing silver script. Crackers were placed at the top of every setting with a small card naming the intended recipient as well as the polite instruction the contents were fragile and please do not pull. Silver tureens of vegetables, boats of thick vegetable and chicken gravy, small ramekins of cranberry jelly, iced pitchers of fresh juice, carafes of red and chilling bottles of white wine and wicker-baskets of sliced, buttered, baguette were set along the table. The turkey and clove-skewered glazed ham had yet to make an appearance but the diners were certainly able to smell the meat dishes that had been slowly preparing throughout the day in the kitchen that Clint had all but fortified against intruders.

“This another thing he learned from his foster mother?” asked Tony, looking between Phil and Natasha.

“Nope,” said Phil while Thom chuckled beside him. “Made the mistake of taking Clint home with me the second Christmas he was with SHIELD. Mom was horrified that Clint couldn’t make even the basic evening meal from scratch so made it her personal mission to teach him how to cook.”

“Grams is on a mission you nod, agree then duck for cover,” said Thom with a grin.

“So that’s where that habit comes from,” said Tony, looking at Phil with a matching grin. “How’d she work around his dyslexia?”

“Smacked him over the head and told him that God had given him two eyes, two ears, a mouth, a nose and that people had been cooking long before the concept of writing even came about,” Phil said with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t let him read the cookbooks and broke everything down into a series of steps he could memorise.”

“And I _can_ read,” said Clint from the doorway where he stood holding the steaming turkey, Bruce as he elbow with the glazed ham. “It just takes a little longer.”

“It helps if he’s interested in the subject,” said Phil as Clint set the bird down in front of him, Bruce placing the ham further down the table. “Ah, you sure I’m the right person that should be cutting the bird?”

“You’re the founder of the feast, Boss,” said Clint, holding out the carving knife and fork.

“I’m fairly sure this isn’t coming out of my bank account,” said Phil, accepting the cutlery but not moving to cut the meat.

“Not what I mean,” said Clint as he took his seat and waved a hand around to encompass the room. “You’re our lynchpin, Boss. None of this would be possible without you.”

“Last I checked,” said Phil. “When the Avengers formed ranks against the Chitauri, I was bleeding out in a SHIELD surgical bay.”

“But you got us where we needed to be,” said Steve.

“You gave us a reason to fight,” added Tony.

“And a reason to win,” finished Natasha.

“Clint’s right, Phillip,” said Peggy. “None of this would have been possible if you hadn’t picked up a Captain America comic book and conceived the dream that one day a group of extraordinary misfits would band together for the sake of humanity.”

“To Phil Coulson,” said Thor from the far end of the table where he was seated with Jane.

“Phil Coulson,” echoed the rest of the guests as Phil flushed scarlet with embarrassment.

“Now share out the damn bird before it gets cold,” ordered Clint, drowning out Tony’s demand to Peggy as to who exactly she was calling a misfit.

* * *

“Care to tell me why you’re so hyper?” asked Tony with a laugh as a freshly showered, half-naked Clint wrapped himself octopus-like around the engineer who was in a similar state of undress.

“I need a reason?” asked Clint.

“I’ve known you six years, Legolas,” said Tony. “I’ve never seen you this excited.”

“Really?”

“Really,” confirmed Tony, twisting his head to steal a quick kiss before pulling away again. “Spill.”

“Friends, family, laughter and love,” said Clint.

“That’s it?” said Tony, not convinced. “That’s the secret to getting you to run like the Energizer Bunny? Friends, family……”

“Laughter and love,” finished Clint, pulling away to sit on the edge of the bed. “Tony, do you have _any_ idea how special this Christmas is to me?”

“You mean it isn’t just that you finally have the man of your dreams and a personal apartment in the most modern building in New York?” said Tony. The look Clint gave him would have told anyone that the engineer was well and truly off the mark with his conclusion.

“I hated Christmas as a kid,” said Clint. “Hated it as an adult too and come December 23rd I was more than willing to burrow under a rock until the ruckus was all over. But then Phil invited me to his parents’ for the holidays back in ’98. It wasn’t a senior Agent taking pity on a scrawny asset that had nowhere else to go – it was one friend asking another to share in something that was special to them.”

“What makes this year so special?” asked Tony.

“I finally have a family that I can call my own,” said Clint. “Friends that I know will stick by me no matter what. And the man I love ready and willing to share his world with me and to step into mine.”

“And I will keep doing so for as long as you want,” said Tony, going to his knees before his lover and cupping his cheek. Clint gave a small laugh that was worryingly wet considering his hyperactivity of mere minutes ago.

“Is forever too long?” he asked. Tony blinked before a wide smile split across his face and he surged up to capture Clint’s lips in a kiss that he hoped would express all that he was still unable to put into words.

“Forever,” the engineer said when they eventually parted. “Sounds perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "God Bless Us Everyone" by Andrea Bocelli


	25. 21st Century Christmas

The fallout from the _New York Post_ publication of Tony and Clint’s intimate embrace had made both men protective of their relationship, the Avengers and their civilian extensions being as equally defensive when questioned about the subject. Natasha’s repeated diatribes in Russian had failed to oust the few remaining journalists from the around the Tower and since none of them were daring to step past the ground floor level (Pepper had delivered her equally blistering threats in English when she caught a couple of them trying to sneak further up the Tower) there was very little the Avengers, or _StarkIndustries_ staff could do but ignore them. Steve was amazed that none of Tony’s company employees had used the frenzy to either add their own gossip or to blackmail Tony but the engineer had informed him, perhaps a little too smugly, that he had some of the loyalist employees in the country. The fact that it was only speculation that appeared in the press, and never as the result of ‘a source who did not wish to be named’ or ‘a source close to the pair’, meant that every single one of the Tower’s employees had certainly earned themselves an additional bonus that holiday.

Neither Pepper nor Phi were convinced that the full story would remain out of the press for long, however, so in order to remain ahead of any sensationalist headlines that would help neither man (and allow Tony to reclaim his foyer) the two handlers had persuaded Clint and Tony to provide an interview. Clint had balked at the idea while Tony was far from happy at once more having his private life dragged out for all-and-sundry to read then use to line the bird cages and cat-litter trays. Phil and Pepper, however, were able to sooth ruffled feathers by suggesting they design the entire interview, from the publication downwards.

Hill had been furious, Fury was determinedly ignoring the entire thing, Sitwell nabbed a copy for a rainy day and the first 2013 edition of the _TIME_ magazine sold out within hours of it hitting the shelves.

Clint had insisted that they chose a writer and photographer from obscurity who would benefit from the notoriety an exclusive interview would bring. Tony had agreed with little complaint, already working out how he to ensure Ms Jessica Carpenter of _Vanity Fair_ received a copy, though he did insist that they get to proof the final article before it went to print. Miss Jennifer O’Connor, the young reporter whom JARVIS, Phil and Pepper had all agreed would be perfect for the task, had stutteringly agreed to the lover’s terms.

The front cover boasted a polished image of Tony sitting one of the communal area’s sofas with Clint sitting on the floor between his legs and about a third of their lopsided Christmas tree standing in the background. Both men were dressed down into t-shirts and jeans and grinning like lunatics. The pose was the exact opposite of risqué, the contact between the pair as chaste as Tony’s arms wrapping around Clint’s shoulders and his ankles pressing into his hips, but there was no denying that they were together – the matching rings of twisted silver and gold that adorned Tony’s finger and hung from a chain around Clint’s neck helped with that - and that they were happy. The title banner of _Comfort and Joy_ , written in a festive red, curled across Clint’s shins, his bare toes poking out from underneath the ‘o’ in both words.

The _TIME_ ’s relaxed style of writing leant itself well to story and inside there spanned a seven page tale, dotted with photographs, telling the lovers’ story as friends, partners and Avengers, though the exact nature of Clint’s role in the Initiative was kept relatively low-key. Throughout the interview, Tony had been his usual flirtatious self, catching Miss O’Connor off her guard as she didn’t know how to respond when the man’s lover was sitting with them. Clint, observing her skittish behaviour, has smiled, slapped Tony across the shoulder in rebuke before gently coaxing their guest from her shell until she too was smiling and joking, the interview suddenly becoming a conversation. One that Miss O’Connor made sure to include the rest of the Avengers and their civilian cohorts.

“Pleased we did it?” asked Tony, wrapping his arms around Clint where he sat reading the article at the communal kitchen’s breakfast bar, the archer currently making his way through a comment by Steve where the man expressed his support for the couple.

“I am,” said Clint, pressing back into Tony’s arms and resting a hand over Tony’s, his fingers going to play with Tony’s ring. “Are you?”

“Best decision I’ve made in a long time,” replied Tony, glancing at the magazine and the trio of pictures that spaced out the pages – one of which was a lucky shot of Miss O’Connor laughing at something Clint said. The genuine expression of joy on Clint’s face and the way his hand had rarely left Tony’s during the four-hour interview finally gave him the courage to say the words Clint would never press him for but was desperate to hear nonetheless. Silently, Tony reached over Clint’s shoulder to close the magazine and turned the archer around so that they were face to face. Clint cocked his head in curious concern at the serious expression on Tony’s face.

“For five years you’ve nurtured a love that I’m still not entirely sure I deserve,” Tony said, pressing a finger against Clint’s lips when he made to speak. “I have a less than stellar past and it took a near-fatal shrapnel wound and the last wish of a dying man for me to even start becoming something resembling a decent human being. That you have been willing to stand beside me, protect me, love me and fight to find the man behind the mask when almost everyone else had all but given up means more to me than I can ever say. So, I’ll start with this: I love you.”

Clint choked and sat blinking for a moment before throwing himself at Tony, cupping the engineer’s cheeks and seeking his mouth in a blistering kiss that was willingly, and delightedly, returned.

“Dear God, I knew this was going to turn out to be a bad idea!” exclaimed Steve as he stumbled to a noisy halt in the doorway. Clint and Tony broke apart with a laugh.

“Sorry, Cap,” said Clint, sliding to his feet and grabbing Tony’s hand, tugging the grinning engineer out the kitchen.

“Legolas?” Tony asked as he was dragged back towards the elevator. “Ah, what happened to breakfast?”

“Gotta work up an appetite first,” said Clint.

Steve’s scandalised exclamation of “Clint!” followed the two laughing lovers down the corridor.

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue**

After the _TIME_ interview, life went back to normal for the Avengers. They continued to answer when Fury called from them to Assemble, Tony in his ever evolving Iron Man armour and Clint in his Stark-designed-and-patented armour that Tony had given him that first Christmas. Six months later, Tony finally yielded to the pressure from both Clint and Bruce and designed a similar battle-armour for Natasha, which she accepted with a genuine smile that continued to freak the engineer out. With neither man wearing armour or using weapons that were suitable for ring-bearing, Steve designed a tattoo for them – a graphic representation of the rings they wore when off-duty that Clint had inked into his right upper-arm, in his line of sight when using his bow, while Tony chose to have it tattooed across his right hip, in memory of the IED explosion that could have so easy torn Clint away from him. (Steve had designed a bald-eagle with wings outstretched and a snake grasped between talons for Clint to have tattooed across the same area)

The start of May saw a sombre mood fall upon the Avengers, and the population of New York, as they remembered those lost in the Chitauri invasion, Clint vanishing for the four days he had been under Loki’s control before ultimately reappearing, pale and shaken, in Columbia Gardens Cemetery where the SHIELD personnel had been buried. The Avengers had slept together in the lounge that night, Clint secure in an embrace from at least one of his teammates.

June was more celebratory with Hannah and Theo graduating from High School with honours and walking straight into a place at any college, university or training programme of their choosing, funded by grants from the _No Limits Foundation_ that Tony had set up to aid those from poorer backgrounds, particularly those in New York’s care-system, attend further education.

August passed without much eventful happening (unless you counted a batch of rogue mechanical bugs that terrorised the downtown area of New York for ten days) while September saw Tony and the Clint standing as groomsmen and Natasha as maid-of-honour at the wedding of Happy and Pepper, Miss O’Connor more invited to report on the event. October again saw wedding bells as Kit and Thom became one of the first same-sex couples to tie the knot in New York, Clint and Phil standing witness as promised.

Between honeymoons, the legal rigmarole of making sure Pepper still had the right and authority to be CEO of _StarkIndustries_ now that she was Mrs Virginia Hogan rather than Ms Potts, sporadic nuisance appearances by the denizens of AIM and Von Doom and Clint’s worry about Hannah and Theo as they settled into the life of a student, Hannah at MIT (Tony was far too proud of that choice) and Theo at Harvard, the rest of the year faded away quicker than anyone realised and the lovers were suddenly faced with their first anniversary.

Tony celebrated it by leading Clint on a bizarre treasure hunt across New York, the younger man receiving a small gift at each of his stops, before wining and dining his lover at the Carlyle Hotel Restaurant. Clint had then turned the tables on his lover as they finished their dessert, going down on one knee in the middle of the surprisingly crowed restaurant and asking Tony to marry him. When the elderly lady who had been sitting at the next table over – who the pair would later recognise as being the lady who had shared Pepper and Happy’s table at the _Robin Hood Foundation_ dinner-dance – told Tony he had better make his decision sharpish otherwise she was snatching Clint up for herself, Tony had laughed and pulled Clint back to his feet.

“Glacaim leis,” said Tony. Clint had given a startled laugh at the Irish phrase before pulling Tony into a modest kiss and the restaurant burst into applause.

The wedding was held the following April with Kit and Natasha standing as Clint’s witnesses while Rhodey and Pepper stood as Tony’s and Phil stood between them looking stupidly proud as the Justice of the Peace performed the ceremony. Miss O’Connor was given her third Avengers exclusive, and a job offer to be the Avengers’ official spokesperson and press liaison, which she accepted with a barely supressed squeak.

“And while this is not a fairy story,” Tony said, drawing his story to a close. “They did indeed live Happily Ever After.”

“But you fo’got ’bout finding Jace!” protested Ashely Hogan, the only one of the three children Tony had been regaling that was actually still awake, her three-year-old brother Zach sprawled spread-eagle his front and dead to the world at Tony’s side while two-year-old Jason River Barton-Stark was curled in his father’s arms with his ear pressed against the gently whirling arc-reactor. Tony turned to child, who was curled into such mountain of pillows and blankets she looked like a multi-coloured marshmallow clutching a stuffed rabbit.

“That’s Uncle Clint’s story to tell, Strawb’ry,” he said, watching as the child squirmed in pleasure at the nickname that Pepper had tried, and ultimately failed, to prevent the engineer giving her daughter.

“Tomorrow?” asked Ashley, her eyes widening pleadingly.

“Guess that means Boss is getting the cliff-notes version of my report,” said Clint from where he rested against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest and still dressed in his SHIELD-issue, Stark-modified sniper blacks. Ashely squeaked in delight and scrambled out of her blankets to launch herself at the archer. Clint caught her with ease and pressed a kiss to her forehead before Ashley curled into his embrace, stuffed rabbit going up to be squished between them. Tony smiled at the behaviour as he slid from Zach’s bed and repositioned Jason in his arms so he could pull Clint into a brief kiss of welcome.

“Mission accomplished?” he asked.

“Mission accomplished,” agreed Clint, settling Ashley back into her mountain of covers with another kiss before turning to retrieve Jason from his husband’s arms. In a ritual that Clint had started when Jason was a mere three months old and now refused to have broken regardless of who asked, the archer proceeded to gently rock Jason while humming a lullaby that Phil had once used with Thom before pressing a kiss to Jason’s forehead and settling him in the bed next to Zach with a whispered goodnight.

“Night Uncle Tony. Night Unca Hawk,” murmured Ashely, her words broken by a yawn.

“Night, Strawb’ry,” said Clint with a gentle smile.

“JARVIS, night-light,” Tony instructed and the light dimmed appropriately as the pair backed out the bedroom and crossed the hall to their own room. Once there, Clint quickly found himself pinned against the nearest wall, his wrists held above his head while his mouth was plundered by Tony’s tongue and a solid thigh slid between his own.

“Hey,” the archer breathless chuckle when they eventually broke apart in need of air. “Take it I was missed?”

“Hell, yeah,” replied Tony, shifting so he could slip a chain from around his neck and slipping it around Clint’s, taking a moment to appreciate the way the attached gold and silver ring shone out again Clint’s black clothing before sliding his hands up to entangle his fingers with Clint’s.

“We’ve got nine hours for me to show you exactly how much,” he said before swooping in for another kiss that served to tease and enflame both men, Clint breaking Tony’s hold on one of his hands to pull his husband closer.

The need for air once more broke them apart and Tony nipped along Clint’s jawline before latching on to his pulse point and proceeding to suckle, unzipping Clint’s jacket as he did so, pressing into the warm muscle beneath. Clint moaned and bucked against him, arousal singing through his blood.

“JARVIS,” he managed to choke out as Tony used his free hand to slide under his t-shirt and drag his nails across fading scar tissue. “Keep the kids out.”

“Very good, Sir.”

 

FINALE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Irish Translation**
> 
> _Glacaim leis_ \- I accept
> 
>  
> 
> Title from "21st Century Christmas" by Cliff Richard
> 
>  
> 
> **Thank yous**  
>  Huge thanks to all those who have left Kudos on this work, those who have bookmarked or subscribed to the story, those who have commented and the 4600+ people who have clicked the initally link and given this story a shot.
> 
> Thanks also to **sassy_cissa** , moderator of **slythindor100** livejournal where this challenge originates, for taking the time to search for, and post, the picture prompts throughout December.
> 
> **Impishgrin**


End file.
